


Dear Mrs. Malfoy

by LaLionne (otayuriistheliteralbest)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Charms Apprenticeship, Drarry, Epistolary, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-31 21:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12690882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otayuriistheliteralbest/pseuds/LaLionne
Summary: What happens if, one year after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry writes a letter to Narcissa Malfoy to thank her for saving his life in the Forbidden Forest? What happens if she writes back? Together, Harry, Narcissa, and Draco learn to move on in a life after Voldemort, and maybe something more for Harry and Draco as they heal together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the ever-tireless efforts of Sasha in beta'ing my work. <3

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_I never really got the chance to thank you properly for what you did for me back in the Forbidden Forest. If you hadn’t lied to Voldemort-_

—

Harry crumpled up the parchment he had been writing on and threw it into the waste bin beside his desk, running a tense hand through unruly hair that he still could not get to lie flat even after all these years. The Boy Who Lived Twice rubbed his eyes under thick-framed glasses and then settled them back on the bridge of his nose. He had to get this letter right, he had to thank Narcissa Malfoy. If it weren’t for her, he would not still be here... and maybe things would have turned out very differently for the Wizarding World. For him. This was important.

That settled, Harry pulled out a new sheet of parchment and dipped his quill in the inkwell to try again.

—

_Mrs. Malfoy,_

_You have my deepest gratitude for all that you did for me-_

—

Harry let out a strangled shout of frustration and tore that piece of parchment up, too, abruptly standing up and kicking his desk in the process. He cursed and hobbled about the small office on his uninjured foot before plopping back down into his desk chair with a sigh. 

Why was it so difficult to write a simple letter of thanks? Of course he knew why, but he wasn’t about to march up to Malfoy Manor to request an audience with the matriarch of the family. For one thing, it was antiquated, and for another... he was scared of what her reaction would be. He was so sure that her lie that saved his life had really been nothing more than a mother wishing to save her son who was trapped inside Hogwarts and she didn’t even know if Draco was still alive. Harry knew that, and yet... 

The eighteen year old shook his head and pulled out yet another fresh sheet of parchment. He _needed_ to thank Narcissa Malfoy. There was no matter of doing it or not, it just had to be done.

—

_2 May 1999_

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_I’ve been having a hard time writing this letter to you. I know that a year has passed since that day - what the Daily Prophet is calling the Battle of Hogwarts. I want to thank you for what you did for me in the Forbidden Forest; you defying Voldemort and lying to him was probably the one thing that saved my life. I don’t really know what I can do to repay you, but I just wanted to say thanks. I hope that you are doing well, and if you ever need anything, please let me know._

_Harry Potter_

—

The dark-haired man - no longer a boy - sighed and looked down at his rough scrawl on the paper. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best that he was able to do for now. He folded and sealed the small piece of parchment and gave it to the waiting owl, who nipped at his hand before allowing him to tie the letter to his leg. 

It was a new one, a barn owl. Harry couldn’t bring himself to get another snowy owl after Hedwig. She had been his first real friend, and it hurt still to look at this new owl and know that he was not the same. Nothing was the same after the war. Harry hadn’t even named the poor creature yet, and it had taken him almost a year after the Final Battle against Voldemort before he finally realized that he needed to get another owl if he wanted to keep living in the Wizarding World. Even though he couldn’t replace Hedwig in his heart, it was becoming impractical for him to keep going to the post office to pay for an owl to deliver his letters. Harry had only managed to purchase his new owl the previous week.

He sent the letter off with the barn owl, watching the creature fly off into the night sky to a woman he did not truly know, to whom he owed his life.

—

_9 May 1999_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I must say, I was surprised to receive your letter. I am glad to see that life has been treating you well, if the Daily Prophet is to be believed. I think that you made the right decision, not going into Auror training. I am sure that your ambitions in that direction stemmed from the situations you found yourself in during school years, but now that those unfortunate circumstances are no longer there, you should find your own place in this new world._

_It is best to take time off to be with loved ones, especially for someone such as yourself.  
From what my son told me in the past, you are rather adept at Charms work - have you ever considered a profession in that vein? Experts in Charms can work in nearly any field, and are usually well outside the view of the public; something that I think you would appreciate. It would be hard work to become a Charms Master, but I believe that your Professor Flitwick would be more than happy to assist you in the endeavor, if you are so inclined. I myself have several connections should you wish to follow Charms. It was one of my strong suits when I studied at Hogwarts._

_I digress. May fortune and happiness shine on you, Mr. Potter. Please do not think of repaying what I did that fateful day. Any mother would have done the same in my stead._

_Narcissa Malfoy._

—

Harry stared down in shock at the letter that the eagle owl plopped rather ungracefully on his head while he ate his morning porridge in the cold kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place. If he were honest with himself, he hadn’t expected a letter back from Mrs. Malfoy when he sent off his thank you to her. He had spent sleepless nights with his stomach roiling over his word choice but finally had made his peace with the letter. After a week with no response from her, he just assumed that she had read his thank you letter and cast it aside without a second thought for him.

Instead, not only did she write back to him, but Mrs. Malfoy had gone so far as to give Harry work advice. It was true that he’d given up the idea of going into Auror training. After so many years fighting Voldemort, he’d grown tired of fighting dark wizards and didn’t want to see evil around every corner. The Chosen One wanted to live a less notorious life, something quiet and calm. Steady. He’d spent the better part of the past year renovating Grimmauld Place to be properly livable, not just the bare minimum that the Order had attempted to do when they used his inherited home as their Headquarters.

Now the rooms felt big and bright, most of them painted in varying shades of white, sand, and blue. The once-dreary halls felt cheerful, especially once he had taken a sledgehammer to the wall holding Walburga Black’s shrieking portrait. Luckily, another room existed on the other side of that portrait’s wall, and he was able to turn his moment of anger at the horrible woman into a wide entranceway that lead to what was now his sitting room.

There were only light touches here and there of the original owners, mostly things that reminded Harry of Sirius. He’d had some of the things from Sirius’ room framed, and left the photos up on the walls in that room due to his permanent sticking charms. Harry was sure that he could find a way around them, much like Walburga’s painting, but he rather liked that there were photos from Sirius’ teenage years up in what had been his room. It was a little reminder of the man he had been before the war had torn his life apart. 

Motorcycles revved and bikini-clad girls waved from the photos on the walls, but the photo that Harry treasured most of all was the one of the Marauders waving cheerfully at the camera. The boys must have been in fifth or sixth year, and looked completely relaxed and happy with life. It was before Wormtail had betrayed his friends, before everything fell to shit. Sirius’ arms were slung over Remus and James’ shoulders, and they grinned at each other like they were plotting something - and no doubt they were, given what Harry knew of their time at Hogwarts. The photo made Harry smile every time he went into Sirius’ old room.

The kitchen of Grimmauld Place probably held some of the most drastic differences. He hated the small, cramped feeling he always had in that room when it was the Order Headquarters’ war room. Some months back, while Harry sat at the big table trying to figure out how to improve on such a depressing space, he remembered the charmed windows in the Ministry that showed country scenes and the outside world. 

The Boy Wonder spent weeks pouring over books of complex Charms work, learning the concepts behind the spells before attempting to cast them. Through trial and error, Harry installed huge window panes to the one blank wall of the room. Now, he was able to have a simulated version of Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts, a forest, the ocean, any landscape he wanted at his disposal, depending on his mood. That bit of work had taken him months to perfect, but now he could switch the scene out the large windows with a flick of his wrist.

Maybe Mrs. Malfoy was onto something. Of all his subjects in school, Harry really did feel that Charms had been his strongest after Defense Against the Dark Arts, and _that_ was a line of work that he definitely did not want to follow anymore.

Harry fished a teacup out of his cupboard and turned on the kettle. He scooped fresh tea leaves into the cup as the water boiled, tapping his fingers against the counter while he waited. He reread the letter a couple of times, wondering at Mrs. Malfoy’s suggestions. He was honestly astonished that the matriarch of the Malfoys would be keeping tabs on him and was humbled by her kind words. Harry never expected anything to come out of his writing to her.

The kettle whistled noisily and Harry poured the boiling water over his tea leaves. He cast a timer charm to go off in 2 minutes and when the bell trilled, he Charmed the leaves out of the cup and into the compost bin by the sink with a flick of his wrist. Picking up the teacup, he trotted down the hall to his study, a room whose walls were all painted a pale, calming blue. 

Harry set his steaming cup of tea on a saucer that had seen a lot of use over the last year and moved his completed blueprints of 12 Grimmauld Place to the side of the large beech desk. He waved his wand, and a fresh sheet of parchment floated out of a drawer to settle in front of him. He unscrewed the inkwell that sat to his right, methodically dipped his quill in the black ink, and thought about what he should write.

—

_9 May 1999_

_Mrs. Malfoy,_

_Thank you for your kind thoughts. I agree that what I went through in my time at Hogwarts was more than enough for me. I’ve spent the past year renovating my home, which is nearly complete, and I think that it has been good for me to get away from everything. I know that my friends wish I’d followed their paths, but I don’t think I would be in as a good place as I am now if I had._

—

Harry stopped there. He was a bit confused by her casual mention of Malfoy - of Draco, rather. He hadn’t spoken to his schoolboy nemesis since the other man’s trial some six months back, and then it was in front of the Wizengamot, testifying on Draco’s behalf. He laid out everything that he could to aid Draco Malfoy, because really he did not feel like he deserved any time in Azkaban - especially after everything he had been forced to do under duress. No wizard or witch should have to go through what Draco had done. Harry set his quill to the parchment, only to find that his ink had run dry. He tsked at himself and dipped the tip of the quill in his inkwell again, then went back to writing.

—

_I’ll admit that I’m surprised Draco would remember something like my Charms work. I finished my schooling with a private tutor - I’m sure you could understand my not being able to go back to Hogwarts to finish my seventh year. There are too many bad memories there, too recent, and the damage to the castle is still being repaired. I think it will take a long time before I can step foot on the grounds again._

_When I took the N.E.W.T.s a few months ago, Charms was one of two courses that I got an O in. I’m sure that you can guess what the other course was. I feel like the examiners didn’t even want to test me in Defense Against the Dark Arts and just wanted to give me an automatic pass._

_I think I will take you up on your suggestion and talk to Professor Flitwick. Thank you._

_Harry Potter_

—

Harry blew on the ink to get it to dry faster and reread his words a couple of times. Before he could change his mind about sending it, he quickly sealed the letter. His barn owl was sitting on his perch next to Harry’s desk and shifted from foot to foot as if he knew his master had a task for him. The eighteen-year-old rolled his eyes at the creature and tied the letter to his leg; the bird immediately jumped to the air and flew out the open window.

Harry watched the owl fly off out of his window with a pang. It felt weird, writing to Narcissa Malfoy, but he shrugged it off and took a sip from his teacup, which had gone lukewarm in the time he spent writing the letter to Mrs. Malfoy. He sighed and cast a quick warming charm on the cup, bringing it back to a perfect temperature, and took a thoughtful sip.

—

_11 May 1999_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It is wonderful to hear that you have been using your time to recuperate. After all that you have suffered, a well-deserved break is in order. I do hope that Filius Flitwick will have sound advice for you - perhaps he could find you an apprenticeship? If it weren’t for the fact that he has chosen to remain at Hogwarts, I am sure that he would be happy to invite you under his wing. If he has no one in mind for you, may I make a few inquiries on your behalf? I have several friends in the field who I am sure would be interested to meet with you._

_To your health,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

—

_16 May 1999_

_Mrs. Malfoy,_

_I appreciate your offer. I am not sure if I’m ready yet to commit to anything, but if you know someone who would like to meet and talk, I would readily accept._

_My thanks,  
Harry Potter_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic is going to be a long one. I started it during NaNoWriMo in 2016, and set it aside for a year. I'm finally getting back into it and exploring this world again. Keep in mind that there will be an attempted sexual assault later in the story, and I will put a warning label on that chapter when I come to it. I will be posting chapters once a week here - there are 7 chapters already written, and I am working on more! Also, fair warning that while this is going to eventually be Drarry, Draco isn't going to show up for a LONG, long while. I'm estimating about 20 chapters to this story, though likely there will be more than that. We shall see! :)


	2. Chapter 2

_23 May 1999_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I have spoken with a number of my Charms Master contacts. While a few of them have moved to the Continent and Japan, and others are no longer accepting apprentices, there are two who have owled me back expressing an interest in meeting with you. I did not divulge your name in my initial inquiries, to keep my contacts from showing favouritism, and as such have only told them that I know of a very promising Charms pupil who received an O on his N.E.W.T.s. I hope that you do not mind that I went about it in this manner. I feel that it was in your best interests to keep your name a secret, at least initially, to protect you from wizards who merely wanted to get a closer look at “The Boy Who Lived Twice.”_

_The first is a gentleman by the name of Jasper Ealdwine. He was an old professor of mine when I went to Hogwarts, and he has been retired for a number of years, but has decided to come back out of retirement recently to start his own business. He is an amusing man, and one who would do well with you, I should think. He is kind hearted, and not someone who would take advantage. He would be able to teach you the basics and give you a solid background in Charms work._

_Fletcher Breckinridge, the other Charms Master with whom I spoke, is a bit younger, in his fifties, and would work you hard. He can be a difficult man to work with at times, but you will be sure to receive the best possible education from him. Breckinridge specializes in carpentry Charms work and has his own workshop, something that I think might interest you.  
_

_I have enclosed contact information for both Jasper and Breckinridge, and would recommend that you meet with both of them before you decide on anything._

_Best wishes to your future, Mr. Potter._

_Narcissa Malfoy_

—

Harry held the piece of parchment in his hands, flummoxed. He honestly hadn’t expected Mrs. Malfoy to follow up on her last letter to contact Charms Masters on his behalf, and to do so anonymously… well, it meant a lot to him that she realized that he would want his privacy. Narcissa Malfoy continued to surprise him.

Harry picked up the second piece of parchment, which held the names and addresses of the two Masters who had shown an interest in him. He wasn’t so sure about the second Master, Mr. Breckinridge, from her description, but he had his own carpentry workshop, and much of what Harry had been doing this last year would tie in so nicely to that…

He stood up from his desk suddenly, causing the barn owl to squawk in surprise. The bird ruffled his feathers and soon settled down again into slumber. Harry rolled his eyes at the creature and made his way downstairs. The plus side of being surrounded by a Muggle neighbourhood was that technology wasn’t useless like it was at Hogwarts. When he’d remodeled 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry installed a telephone line in his front hallway. He didn’t have many people he could call, but Hermione also had a phone and he needed her advice.

The phone rang twice before her voice picked up on the other end.

“Hello, Hermione Granger speaking.”

“Oh good you’re there, Hermione. It’s Harry.” He scratched his head, unsure how to proceed.

“Oh hello, Harry. Is everything all right?” His best friend could hear the confusion in his voice; he could tell from her own worried tone.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine, Hermione. I just needed some advice...” Harry trailed off.

Her curiosity was piqued.

“What about? Do you want me to come over?” She asked. “I’m free for the next hour before I have to get back to the office.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his workaholic friend.

“It’s Sunday, ‘Mione, why are you going to the Ministry?” He asked, already knowing that the answer would be something boring.

She huffed on the other end of the line.

“We have a deadline to meet with this goblin strike, and I can’t take a day off until it’s over,” she stated. “You have my attention for the next hour; that’s the best I can do.”

“Fine, fine. Come on over. See you in a second.” Harry hung up the phone and went over to his front door. He heard the _crack_ of someone Apparating to his doorstep and he opened it to find a harried-looking Hermione in wrinkled midnight blue robes, her arms stuffed full of books and scrolls with a quill behind her ear. Harry chuckled at the sight.

“Need help with any of that?” He asked her, holding back a grin.

She just sighed at him and plopped all of her papers and tomes into his outstretched arms. Hermione walked past him into the foyer, hanging her robes up on a coat hook before making her way straight to the kitchen. Smiling to himself, Harry trotted after her.

“What is so important, Harry, that you felt the need to call me?” Hermione’s tone sounded sharp, but she smiled at him as she filled the kettle and put it on the stove. She grabbed two teacups - one with an orange cat whose tail flicked from side to side and another plain striped cup - from the cupboard. She spooned in tea from the tin on the counter and turned to Harry while they waited for the kettle to boil.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with my life, now that Grimmauld Place is nearly finished-”

“Harry, that’s wonderful!” Hermione interrupted him. “What did you want to do?”

“I’ll tell you if you stop interrupting me, ‘Mione,” he said, teasing her. She had the good sense to look ashamed as she fiddled with the buttons on her robes. Harry continued, “Oh, very well. You know I’m only kidding.” He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “I was thinking of going for a Charms apprenticeship, and someone gave me a couple of recommendations...”

“Oh really? That would be fascinating! Who did you talk to about it? I’m rather surprised you didn’t come to me first. Was it Professor Flitwick? I’m sure that he would be happy to take you on, if you wanted.” Hermione spoke a mile a minute, all while pouring hot water into their two cups and handing Harry the striped one. He laughed.

“Hermione, calm down and let me talk. It’s...well, here’s what happened.” Harry knew he was stalling, but he didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. “At the beginning of the month, I wrote to Narcissa Malfoy to thank her for saving my life last year. It’s been eating me up and I’ve never had the chance to talk to her since the battle, so I caved and wrote to her. Well, she wrote me back and we’ve talked a bit, and she made some calls to people she knows, Charms Masters who are interested in taking on an apprentice. She didn’t even reveal my name to them, just told them about my grades, and, well, I think I want to meet with them.”

Once he started talking, Harry felt like he couldn’t stop until he got everything out. Hermione sat at his kitchen table, shocked, her cat teacup waving its ginger tail under her fingertips. After a long moment of silence, Harry sighed and sat down across the table from her. He snapped his fingers in front of Hermione’s face, startling her.

“‘Mione, you with me?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She shook her head briefly and took a long sip from her teacup, sputtering when she found it too hot. She coughed, then quickly regained control.

“Are you seriously considering accepting her help? I mean, I understand that she saved your life, but still…” Hermione trailed off. “You don’t know what kind of contacts she has, what kind of people they are. Are you sure that you can trust her? _Them_?” Hermione grasped her teacup tightly in one hand, and Harry could see the cat squirming as if she were gripping _it_ tightly.

Harry looked down at his own striped teacup, then back to his friend.

“Yes, I do. I don’t think that Narcissa Malfoy was ever a bad person, she just... lost her way. You should have seen her, Hermione. She would have done anything to save her family, she didn’t care about Voldemort or his plans for the future. All she cared about was keeping her loved ones safe. Now that the war is over, she wants to move on from all of that. All the prejudices and fears. I think... I think she may be a good person, deep down.”

The boy glanced up at Hermione from underneath his fallen fringe. She looked pensive, thoughtful.

“Can I see the letters?” She asked.

He started and nearly knocked over his teacup. But really he shouldn’t have been so surprised by her question. Hermione was the type of person who would take any bit of news or research she could get her hands on before making an informed decision, no matter what that decision may be.

“Erm... yeah, I suppose so. They’re in my study.” He scraped his chair back from the table and stood up, rescuing his tea cup in the same motion. “Shall we?”

Hermione laughed. “Yes, we shall. I’m really curious what kind of person she is. I’ve only seen her from afar... which given our past, I’m honestly grateful for.” Her tone soured at the thought. Harry pulled his friend to her feet, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders in a half-hug.

“Let’s not think about the past, ‘Mione. Come on, I’ll show you the letters.” He grabbed her free hand and the two tea-bearing friends made their way down the hall to the study. 

—

Harry stood to the side of the desk nervously while Hermione read the letters from Mrs. Malfoy. He filled in the gaps with what he had written to the Malfoy matriarch, and his bushy-haired friend sat at his desk, hmming to herself while sipping her tea. His own cup had gone cold by this point, and Harry couldn’t be bothered to cast a charm to reheat the liquid, instead opting to set the teacup on the corner of his large desk and lean against it, waiting for Hermione to speak.

When she finally did, it wasn’t what the Boy Wonder was expecting at all.

“Well... she certainly does seem to care about your wellbeing. I’ll admit that I’m surprised at that, and that she would go out of her way to help you find a Charms Master to apprentice under. Is that really what you want, Harry?” she inquired, looking up into startled green eyes. “It almost seems like she pushed this idea on you. Are you looking into an apprenticeship because you want to do it, or because it was the first idea someone threw your way?”

Harry smiled wistfully down at her. “It’s definitely not my first idea of my future. When we were at Hogwarts, all I could think about was Voldemort and becoming an Auror. To be honest, everything that happened to me... it kind of killed those dreams. I don’t want to be constantly looking over my shoulder, thinking that there’s someone out there trying to get me. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.  
“A lot has changed in the past year, ‘Mione. I’ve finally been able to just relax and be myself. No more plotting, no more Death Eaters, no more Voldemort. It’s been peaceful, and that’s all that I could want in this life. You know I did most of the repairs and remodelling of this house?”

She nodded at Harry.

“Well, a huge part of the remodelling was complicated Charms work, and most of all, I just loved learning about all the intricacies that went into the work. Just as much as I enjoyed learning Defense Against the Dark Arts in school, but this was something I wanted for _myself_ , not something that I needed to learn to stay alive. I want to do something that makes me happy, something that doesn’t threaten my life.”

Harry stopped talking, and there was a beat, a tension in the air that he wasn’t sure how to break, but then Hermione set down her tea cup with that silly cat and she stood up, hugging him tightly.

“I’m so proud of you, Harry,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “I think I knew, deep down, that you were done with it all. I don’t blame you. I don’t think I could have done half of what you had to do. I’m just a bit surprised, is all, with your interest in Charms. You weren’t very vocal about your interest in classes at Hogwarts, and what with finishing your last year away from the school, I just simply didn’t know. I think it’s good for you to have something new, something different to aim for.”

Hermione released Harry and patted him on the cheek.

“Let me do some research into these two Masters, Jasper Ealdwine and Fletcher Breckinridge. I don’t believe that I’ve heard of Breckinridge, but Ealdwine’s name is ringing a bell. No doubt he’s in Hogwarts: A History...” She glanced up at Harry, who was only an inch or so taller than her. “I’m sure that they are perfectly fine, but just to be sure... I’ll let you know what I come up with and then you can owl them, all right?”

Harry smiled and nodded to her.

“Yeah, that sounds fine. I’m sure they’re right as rain as well, but it’s always better to be on the safe side. And besides, the more I know the better, right?”

“Right,” Hermione said curtly. “Now, I really must be going. I hate to dash like this, but goblins will wait for no man... or woman. Ah!” She made an exasperated noise at herself. “No matter. I will be seeing you soon, Harry. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Harry began nudging his friend to the door of the study. “Best of luck with your goblin strike. With you on the case, you’re sure to come out on top.”

Hermione swatted the raven haired man’s shoulder with a noise of frustration. “Oh, you! Don’t jinx me, we still have a long way to go.”

They had made it back to the foyer, and Hermione threw her wrinkled midnight blue robes back on over her sensible - and matching - dress and gathered her parchments and books back up from Harry’s kitchen table.

“I believe in you, Hermione. Ta.” Harry gave the woman a quick hug goodbye.

The girl waved a weary hand at Harry as she stepped out onto his front porch to the hidden Apparition point and whisked away to the Ministry and her afternoon of paperwork. Harry shook his head, scratching behind one ear before heading back inside.

He had to admit to himself that he was grateful for Hermione’s help. If anyone knew how to be discreet, it was her. He lumbered back to his office and cast a warming charm on the cold striped teacup that sat at the corner of his desk, all but forgotten, and pulled another sheet of parchment from his desk drawer to set about responding to Narcissa Malfoy.

—

_23 May 1999_

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_Thank you for your recommendations and the effort you put into asking around for me. It means a lot to me that you kept my name out of your inquiries. I’ve had far too many busy bodies follow me around who wanted to treat me like a glass object to be poked and prodded and protected...but I’m running on. I will look into Jasper Ealdwine and Fletcher Breckinridge, with my deepest thanks to you. With the remodel of my home complete, I think it’s about time I get back into the real world again. Wouldn’t you agree?_

_It seems to me like all we have done is talk about how I am doing and how life has been treating me in this last year. What about you? Are you doing all right? I know that we saw each other, however briefly, at Draco’s trial, but that’s not the same thing, now, is it?_

_I hope you don’t mind my directness. I admit that I have not had much opportunity to write letters to people in my lifetime. Still, for all of that, I hope that you are doing well. You deserve it._

_All the best,_

_Harry Potter_

—

It wasn’t the best letter, to be sure, but Harry figured it was the best he could do at the moment. He tied the parchment up on the barn owl’s leg and the winged creature shot off like a bullet into the day outside Harry’s window. He laughed at the silly bird and stretched in his chair, feeling his spine crack dramatically before settling back down into his chair to think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter is almost entirely written in letters.

_26 May 1999_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I am sorry about the “busy bodies” who felt the need to prod at your life. It is not their life and they had no reason to do so beyond self interest, I am sure. That being said, I do hope that my aid has not leant in that direction. Please do tell me if so._

_I have been doing as well as one could expect. We have been completely remodelling the Manor of late. There are not many good memories left of these rooms, as I am sure you can imagine, and as such I hope to eradicate them as quickly and as elegantly as possible. It was about time the Manor’s decor was updated, anyway. It was getting to be dreadfully old- fashioned._

_To your health,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

—

_26 May 1999_

_Mrs. Malfoy,_

_I definitely don’t feel that way. I really appreciate your suggestions and thoughts. I think that remodelling your Manor is probably the best thing to do. I find home improvement to be very therapeutic, wouldn’t you say?_

_Harry Potter_

—

_27 May 1999_

_Mr. Potter,_

_I do believe that we can do away with the niceties. Please, call me Narcissa. As for the remodel, I think that the most therapeutic part of it is being able to Reducto the portraits and furniture that Voldemort favoured when he forced himself on our hospitality and our home._

_Narcissa_

—

_29 May 1999_

_Narcissa,_

_Your letter made me laugh. Yes, I do believe that there is a certain therapy to destroying hated objects. I myself took a sledgehammer to one of the walls in my house to get rid of a screaming portrait stuck on with a_ Permanent Sticking Charm. _For all that the world of Charms has discovered, a counter-charm for that has yet to be one of them. Thankfully, a sledgehammer and a strong back are all one needs if you can set your mind to the task. Well, that and provided that there is another room to expand to when you do break through the wall._

_P.S. And please, call me Harry._

—

_31 May 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_If the portrait you are talking about was the one of my aunt Walburga Black, I do not blame you at all for destroying that wall to take her down. She was a particularly nasty creature, whose life was spent spewing venom at all of those around her. She had that portrait made shortly after my cousin Regulus disappeared in the first Wizarding War, the same year that her husband died. I fear that being left alone in that large house with only a house elf for company drove her to the edge of madness._

_I could not believe my eyes when I saw it the one time I visited the ancestral Black family home. Before, it had been a dark, dreary place, but with the addition of the portrait...well, I only wish that my father, Cygnus Black, had not been alive to see his childhood home so perverted by that foul painting. I have the feeling that while my father held much the same views of Muggles and Muggleborns as the rest of our family, he did not have quite the same... vigour for the views as did Aunt Walbugra._

_I do believe that twenty years is far too long for so verbally destructive a portrait to remain, and though I certainly know that you did it for yourself and not me, I thank you for your destruction of it. It gives me a peace of mind that I did not know I needed. Not for my own sake, but the Black family name. Aunt Walburga was a disgrace to our family._

_But I digress once more. Have you had the opportunity to speak with Jasper Ealdwine and Fletcher Breckinridge? I know that it has only been a week and you have much to consider in regards to your future, but I do so hope that you will at least meet with them. I hope you do not feel as if I am pushing you, and again please tell me if that is the case._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa_

—

_1 June 1999_

_Narcissa,_

_I have to admit, I completely forgot about your relation to my house. There was no way I could have kept that portrait up, and I am very happy that it is gone. That it gives you peace of mind is an added bonus, I think. She really was horrible, if her portrait is anything to judge by, and I was lucky that I never had the opportunity to meet her in person! I don’t know if I could have handled that sort of meeting._

_I’ve not yet had the chance to write to Jasper Ealdwine and Fletcher Breckinridge. I fully intend to do so, things have just been a bit busy lately. You aren’t pushing me anywhere that I am not interested in. I spoke with my friend Hermione about the Charms apprenticeship. She was surprised at the news, but she now realizes how interested in Charms I’ve become over the years. It’s just that with everything that we have gone through, she somehow didn’t see it. There were always other things to distract us, of course._

_I think my big issue right now is that I don’t know how to move forward... Yes, I’ve rebuilt my home and moved on from the war and being constantly on edge, but beyond that, I’m afraid that I am becoming a bit of a hermit. I have friends and the Weasleys, but I don’t really go out unless they force me to. It’s part of the reason why I’m having a hard time writing to Jasper Ealdwine and Fletcher Breckinridge. It feels like this insurmountable wall that I don’t know if I can get over._

_I don’t know why I’m telling you this, to be honest. Maybe it’s because this is a letter and it feels less personal. I’m able to let my anxieties take a back seat because I can pretend I’m talking to myself. I know that I’m not, but still it seems to help._

_Thank you._

_Harry_

—

_3 June 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_Please do not concern yourself with how my family relates to your home. It is yours now, and that is what matters, to make it your own. And it sounds like you have done so wonderfully. You are definitely lucky that you did not meet Walburga Black in the flesh. Not only because she was a terrible person, but given Sirius’ friendship with your father... well, the meeting would not have ended well._

_Take your time in contacting Jasper and Breckinridge. They expressed an interest in you in the abstract, but I did not set a concrete deadline with either of them. You have been through so much, Harry, and need time to heal. I am glad that your letters to me help in any small way._

_All the best,_

_Narcissa_

—

_5 June 1999_

_Narcissa,_

_I know that it shouldn’t matter, but I still feel like I need your approval for the renovations I have done. You would find it completely changed from what you had seen in the past. Everything is light and airy and open now. I painted the whole place in light colours of white, sand, and blue and it makes everything so calming. Most of the rooms are the same sizes, beyond the room behind the old wall your aunt’s painting had hung on._

_I also got rid of the family tree tapestry that took up the whole wall of one of the rooms. I hope you do not mind, but it was a disturbing reminder of the past for me, and all those names burnt off of it made for a horrible, mouldy mess. I jotted everything down in case it was the only copy of the family tree, though, and would be happy to send you a copy if you have need of it._

_Also, I know it isn’t really my place since he and I were never friends, but wish Draco a happy birthday from me? I’m sure that he is having a harder time adjusting than me, and I’m glad for him that he (and you) no longer live under the same roof as a tyrant._

_Harry_

—

Harry wasn’t really sure if he should write that last part in his letter, but he saw the date when he wrote it at the top of his letter and remembered that it was Draco’s birthday. It didn’t feel completely right to say it, but it also didn’t feel right to not acknowledge the fact of his school nemesis’s birthday. It certainly had to be a much better one than last year, so soon after the war ended and uncertain about his future, and definitely better than the year before that... Harry thought back to that time, chewing on the tip of his quill as he sat at his desk in the study.

Two years ago this day, Draco was no doubt trying to figure out how to repair the vanishing cabinet that eventually brought the Death Eaters into the castle. He was afraid for his life and the uncertain future. Harry thought it may be that Draco would finally be able to move on with his life and be a happier, healthier person. Someday, if not today.

He figured the letter wouldn’t get any better than what it was now, and so Harry sent it off with the barn owl to his newfound, unexpected penpal.

—

_7 June 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you for your kind wishes for Draco. I relayed your message to him, although he was rather confused by both the message sender and the fact that I was the one to relay it to him. It was entertaining to see, and I only wish that I could show you that image in a Pensive. I’m sure that it would amuse you as well._

_Twelve Grimmauld Place sounds beautiful now. I am sure that you have done a wonderful job refurbishing it. It does seem as if you and I were of a mind in remodelling our homes - the Manor now is much lighter, with less dreary wallpaper and paint than before. Many of our ancestral paintings and sculptures were destroyed when Voldemort was a resident here, and I must admit that they were ever so bleak and that I am rather pleased that the majority of those old paintings and sculptures are no longer around. I’ve added a much-needed Morning Room by the kitchen with large open windows that look out on the gardens. It is spelled to keep a perfect temperature, no matter the weather out of doors, and is the most calming room in the Manor. I sit out here most days with a cup of tea, and it is where I go to read and write letters. Draco sometimes joins me._

_I do so hope that he will find his way out again soon. Your defense of Draco at his trial, I feel, saved him from a terrible fate in Azkaban, but he has not yet been able to bring himself to move on with his life. He spends a lot of time reading in the library at the Manor or wandering the halls. I hope that you do not mind my sharing this with you. I worry about my son. He is safe, but he is not living. I do not know the last time that he left the Manor, and I do wish that he had friends left with whom he could discuss what he is thinking and feeling. He will only tell his mother so much._

_To your health,_

_Narcissa_

—

Harry read through the latest letter from Narcissa a couple of times. It was odd to hear about Draco Malfoy described so plainly. He couldn’t imagine the other man rattling about the Manor, not really living his life. The Boy Who Lived Twice couldn’t help but compare Draco to himself. What was he doing with his life, really? The both of them were stuck in place, not wanting to leave their homes. 

But he didn’t feel right simply inviting himself over to the Manor, or even inviting Draco over to his place. He and the blonde had not shared more than two words together since the war had ended, and while Harry seemed to be forming a sort of friendship, in its own odd way, with the other man’s mother, the same could not be said of Draco himself.

He couldn’t just write to him without warning. That would be... weird. 

Harry spent the next couple of days brainstorming, wondering if he could write to Draco, if he should just break all sense and reason and invite the two of them over. He knew that Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban; while he had tried to repay for his crimes by the end of the war, there was still so much he had done before, including escaping from Azkaban, that left him with a lengthy sentence. He would not be out of jail for at least 20 years. So it was just Draco and Narcissa, all alone in that large Manor. Harry thought it was bad enough that he was alone in 12 Grimmauld Place. He couldn’t even imagine living in Malfoy Manor, where you didn’t need to interact with anyone for days if you didn’t want to.

In the end, Harry wrote to Narcissa. He’d have to go about this slowly, carefully, like one would a skittish deer or horse.

—  
_10 June 1999_

_Dear Narcissa,_

_I hope this isn’t too direct. Would you like to come over for coffee some day?_

Harry scowled at the parchment and crumpled it up, giving up on that idea. He flicked his wand and the ball of paper soared into the waste bin.

—

_10 June 1999_

_Dear Narcissa,_

_I’m sorry to hear about that. I can relate to how Draco is doing, I hate to admit. I would’ve liked to see Draco’s face when you talked to him! Your Morning Room sounds lovely. I might have to steal your idea and add on something like that to Grimmauld Place. I don’t have as nice a back yard as I’m sure you do, but I have a little one and could use more windows everywhere. I can always do an Extension Charm on the yard to make it bigger... that might be a project to think on._

_Before I remodelled the basement kitchen in my house, it was pretty dreary. No windows, no natural light. I created something like they have at the Ministry with a large bay window that shows whatever scenery I want. I’ve gotten pretty good at switching the view, but it’d be nice to see my actual back yard through a real window, rather than a false one._

_Harry_

—

_12 June 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_I remember the kitchen of Grimmauld Place from when I was a child - it sounds much improved._

_Have you given any further thought to the Charms apprenticeship? I know that you said you needed time, and I do not mean to pry, but it would be a healthy step forward._

_Narcissa_

—

_14 June 1999_

_Narcissa,_

_I’m ashamed to admit it, but I have been stalling on writing to Jasper and Fletcher. I’m sorry for waiting so long, when you were so kind as to write to them. I promise that I will do that today. It’s not like I have anything else going on to keep me from it. Visits from my friends and your letters are the highlights of my days right now._

_All the best,_

_Harry_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: ready to meet one of our Charms Masters? :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready to meet our first Charms Master? :)

_14 June 1999_

_Dear Mr. Jasper Ealdwine,_

_I am writing you in response to an inquiry Narcissa Malfoy made on my behalf back in May. My name is Harry Potter, and I recently completed my N.E.W.T.s with an O in Charms. I’ve spent the past year remodelling my home with an intensive focus on Charms use, including a Charmed window that can display any number of views. I have come to realize that I have an affinity for the subject that I am very much keen on expanding. Narcissa indicated to me that you would be interested in taking on an apprentice, and I was hoping that I could meet with you over coffee to discuss the apprenticeship, and what it would entail. Just name the date and location, and I will be there._

_Thank you,_

_Harry Potter_

—

Harry made two copies of the letter, one for Ealdwine and the other for Breckinridge. He was nervous, watching his barn owl fly into the morning sky with the letter to Jasper Ealdwine. He knew that it was a step in the right direction, that he had been putting it off for far too long, but still it scared him to think about moving on with his life. While the press had stopped abusing him and printing every little thing he did - mainly because he stopped going out in public - something like this was a huge step for him. He didn’t know if he could do it, and he gripped the edge of his desk tightly with both hands, taking deep, steadying breaths.

If he failed at this apprenticeship, if Ealdwine or Breckinridge took advantage or shared his secrets with the press... well, that was just something that he would have to deal with when he came to it.

Harry rubbed his eyes under his large glasses and pushed them back into place on his nose. What would happen would happen, and there was nothing Harry could do about it. He may as well go do something other than brood.

Once the barn owl had come back from delivering the letter to Jasper Ealdwine, Harry sent out the duplicate letter to Fletcher Breckinridge and had the owl deliver that one as well. May as well meet up with both of the Masters Narcissa had suggested. If one didn’t work out, then he would try to work with the other. Hopefully, he thought, it would not come to that and he would mesh well with one or the other of the Charms Masters.

When a response from Ealdwine came, it honestly surprised Harry. It was the very next morning, and the tiny owl that delivered it flew through his window with an equally tiny scroll tied to his leg. The little owl zipped into Harry’s kitchen while he was eating porridge, and spun around his head in tight circles that reminded the scraggle- haired man of Ron’s owl Pigwidgeon. The excitable bird finally zipped down to the table beside Harry’s food, panting, and offered up its leg to the barely-awake man. Harry took the scroll from the proffered leg.

“Hold on a second,” Harry said sleepily to the little bird. “I’ll get you some owl treats... I know I have a tin in here somewhere.” He stood up, scraping his chair back against the tiled floor and wincing at the noise it made. He glanced at the large bay window with a smile. Today his view was a meadow covered in daisies, and it was a sight that reminded him of calm summer days he had never had. The times he had been able to stay at the Burrow were the closest to that he had experienced. 

Harry rummaged about in his cupboards until he found the errant tin of owl treats in the back behind his various tea tins. He really should organize these cupboards...imagining owl treat tea made him shudder. The Boy Who Lived Twice grabbed the owl treats and closed the cupboard door, making his way back to the little bird who was now whizzing about the table. He could see the little creature was contemplating a dive bomb of his porridge, and quickly took the remaining steps to the table, opening the tin and scattering some treats for the tiny owl to munch on. The moment the bird saw the treats on the table, he dropped down to gobble them up.

The small creature made Harry’s smile broaden, and he quickly unrolled the scroll he had left beside the porridge bowl when he went to grab the owl treats. It unravelled and he was shocked to find that it was much larger than it had first appeared, rolling out to a standard size piece of parchment. Harry took a long sip of his nearly-forgotten tea and read.

—

_15 June 1999_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_When Narcissa Malfoy contacted me asking if I would be interested in taking on an apprentice, I must admit that I had no inkling that the student for whom she was inquiring would be you! I had not heard much of what you had been up to this past year. I am impressed that you have gotten yourself an O in Charms, and would be delighted to meet with you to discuss an apprenticeship if you are seriously interested. It is hard work and will take years for you to complete, mind. It is not for the faint of heart, of which I am sure you are not._

_If it is convenient, would you care to meet in Muggle London? There is this little cafe that I absolutely adore and it will lend us some privacy. I’ve included the address below. Then, if you do wish to pursue an apprenticeship with me, I would like to come to your home to take a look at the Charms work you have done on it. One can learn quite a lot from looking at the spells that others use for everyday work! Write me back when convenient, and we can set a date and time._

_Yours,_

_Jasper Ealdwine_

—

Harry leaned back in his chair and sipped his Earl Grey, thinking about Ealdwine’s offer. Once again, here was another person who was considering Harry’s feelings about being out and about. The choice of a Muggle cafe versus something in Diagon Alley or wizarding London in general meant that he would not have to hide who he was because, to the Muggles, he was a nobody. He could relax.

He really needed to get out of the house. It was time to push himself, no matter how much he wanted to stay in 12 Grimmauld Place on his own forever.

“Wait for me to write a response?” Harry asked the little bird that was pecking what looked like its weight in owl treats off of the table. The owl hooted and went back to stuffing itself, making the dark-haired man chuckle.

That settled, Harry leaned forward once more, draining the last of his tea and setting it down on the saucer with a clatter of china, and set about responding to Jasper Ealdwine. He Summoned his writing kit from the study, not wanting to let his porridge and tea grow cold in his absence - or disappear into the belly of a hungry owl.

—

_15 June 1999_

_Dear Mr. Ealdwine,_

_Thank you for responding so quickly to my owl. I would be happy to meet with you at the Muggle cafe. I can do tomorrow at two in the afternoon, if that time is convenient for you. If not, really any time would be fine. My schedule is pretty open the next couple of days._

_Thank you again,_

_Harry Potter_

—

Short and sweet, and he was only partially lying about being free for the next couple days, since he was free literally any day or time, but the other man didn’t need to know that. Harry wiped sweating palms on his trousers as he watched the tiny, excitable owl wheel through the air. It clearly knew that he had a letter to send back. 

The young wizard thought on how Ealdwine’s scroll had gotten larger as he unraveled it. It wasn’t a Shrinking Charm, or at least not one that Harry knew, since that would have made the parchment as thin as rice paper, but it _could_ be a modification of the Undetectable Extension Charm that allowed the parchment to appear and feel smaller while still holding the consistency and thickness of the original parchment... 

Harry hummed to himself and tested out a couple of varieties of the spell on a scrap of parchment he had lying about on the kitchen table until he homed in on the correct one. Satisfied with himself, he cast the charm on his response letter and rolled it up to place on the energetic owl’s leg. He had barely gotten it tied on when the little owl zoomed out of the room. It must be going out the way it came in, from the window in Harry’s study.

He smiled at the silly bird’s departure and finished eating his porridge, which had gone cold while he read and wrote the letters. He would wait to owl Narcissa until after the meeting, wanting to see how it went before he told her that he finally had set up the meeting with one of her prospects for his apprenticeship.

Harry was sweeping up one of the spare bedrooms later that day when the little owl returned. It somehow managed to find him in the large house, even without having been into most of the rooms before. Harry whistled, impressed, and let the creature snuggle up on his shoulder after he picked the tiny scroll off of its leg. The letter was simple and direct: 

—

_Mr. Potter,_

_That sounds perfect, I will see you there!_

_J. E._

—

Harry snorted at the simple response.

“All right, be off with you now. I don’t need to send a response to your master,” he coaxed the bird away. “I’m sure that I will see you again, you cute thing. I’ll see you around.” The little owl ruffled its feathers at him and then shot off back through the house, leaving an excited but apprehensive Harry in the small spare bedroom, leaning his chin against the handle of his broom, lost in his own thoughts.

—

Harry nervously made his way into the Muggle cafe that Jasper Ealdwine had suggested. He was thirty minutes early for their meeting time, but he felt the need to assess the surroundings and be sure that he would be safe. The little cafe was a bit dingy and run-down, but in that homey sort of way that put Harry at his ease. The barista behind the counter was busy sorting through tins, and he made his way to the far wall of the establishment, sitting with his back to the wall so that he could survey the entrance and keep an eye out.

Harry looked around the cafe as he settled into his chair. The shop was small, and the radio played some odd little Irish tune with fiddles that had Harry tapping his toes lightly on the scuffed and well-used hardwood floor. When he noticed this, he stopped and planted his feet solidly on the ground. There were photos all over the walls, showing an old man in cities from all around the world. Harry assumed that this man was the owner of the cafe. He had a big wide grin that was missing a couple of teeth, but looked very friendly and inviting in spite of - or perhaps because of - the missing teeth.

The barista made her way over to him and handed Harry a menu. She was small, like the cafe, and had the attitude of someone who wished she could be anywhere but here. She chewed gum noisily and rolled her eyes at him.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” she drawled at Harry. He glanced over at the counter that housed an old espresso machine and grimaced slightly to himself.

“I’ll just have a cup of tea, thanks. Earl grey? Black is fine.” With every word he said, the little barista seemed to grow taller and more agitated, but she nodded her head at him and whisked away to the counter to, Harry supposed, press a button for hot water and huff at the ridiculous man she found herself stuck with for the next undetermined amount of time.

Harry glanced around again while he waited for the grumpy barista to return. The tables scattered throughout the little cafe were small and dingy, much like the rest of the shop, and greatly in need of repairs. Some were barely held together, and others had such rickety legs that they needed support from bits of cardboard stuffed underneath them. Harry honestly wondered why the Charms Master he was there to meet would like this place so much, but he chose to ignore it and shook his head at himself.

The short barista set down the cup and saucer on his table with a clatter of china right as the bell above the door chimed. A stout fellow trotted in, a bright purple umbrella under one arm. Odd but not completely out of place, given that Londoners were always carrying umbrellas, but his choice of clothing clearly marked him out as a wizard. He wore the oddest combination of colours, with bright purples and greens mixed with yellows and oranges that did not mesh at all, to say the least. The whole of his appearance was a bit off-putting for Harry, and he leant back a bit in his chair from the whole effect.

The man had a big wide grin and a full beard that had been braided into an intricate, interwoven pattern and, Harry admitted, rather impressive. He wore thin framed glasses and the smile on his face showed in his eyes. The man scanned the cafe, spotting Harry and the confused-looking barista at the far end of the shop.

“Ah, hello there!” He bellowed and waved at Harry, then took long strides to Harry’s table and grabbed up Harry’s hand in an enthusiastic handshake, nearly toppling the man’s teacup into his lap. Harry managed to save it with his quick reflexes and pushed the cup and saucer farther to the centre of the table. “You must be Harry Potter. It is so good to meet you, sir. Very good indeed. Carlotta, I’ll just have a macchiato, if you please.” He spared a glance for the little barista, who nodded her head at him and scurried away to make his drink on the ancient espresso machine.

“Now then,” the portly man boomed at Harry, albeit at a more indoor-appropriate volume, “I was very surprised to receive your letter, Mr. Potter. Very surprised, indeed! I had not heard much of your whereabouts this past year, and last I heard a few months ago was that you declined to join the Auror department. Most surprising, young man. Most surprising. Well. Tell me what interests you about the subject of Charms. There are so many fields of study within Charms itself, and I will be fascinated to hear about your expertise.”

Harry took a long sip of his tea, his mind racing. 

“Well, Mr. Ealdwine,” he said carefully, “I really must say that I stumbled upon the subject more than anything else. I worked with a tutor, you see, after the war to complete my studies, and the home I live in now required extensive work and repairs. So while I was working on my studies, I found myself looking more and more into Charms books and research, and by the time I took my N.E.W.T.s a few months ago, I was so proficient that I received an O. That and Defense Against the Dark Arts were my only Os, along with Es in most of my other courses.”

“Fascinating, fascinating, my dear boy. Well, with an O in your Charms N.E.W.T. I would be more than happy to take you on as an apprentice. Ah, thank you, Carlotta,” he said, interrupting his conversation with Harry as the annoyed barista handed him a small cup with a shot of espresso and foam. He took a sip and continued.

“I must admit that I have not had an apprentice for quite some time, and retired from the wizarding community at large in the 70s. I focus largely on broad-spectrum Charms work, and it sounds to me like you have been doing quite a bit of home building and repairs, remodelling and the like. It will be much more wide of a field of study for you, but then from there you can focus your attentions on what interests you the most.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he really wanted what Jasper Ealdwine was offering. He seemed to like the focus on remodelling charms he had been so intent on the past year, and thought that broadening his focus would make him lose some of that. Still, this odd fellow would likely be a good wizard to work with and for, and it was something to consider.

“That is a very... considerate offer, Mr. Ealdwine. I’ve not yet settled on what I want to do, but having met you, it is definitely something that I want to keep in mind. There are a couple of other avenues I am considering. I hope you don’t mind if I owl you my decision?”

“Yes, yes, of course, dear boy. Now, you had mentioned a Charmed window in your letter - I would love to see it, if you do not mind.” The older man leant forward, his elbows on the table making it creak as it bent slightly. He gulped down the last bit of his macchiato, setting the little cup carefully down on its saucer.

Harry started at that, but then Narcissa would not have contacted anyone she thought would mean him harm. He thought. Still... only his close friends had been in his home since the war. It made him nervous, and his veins felt frozen.

“Yes... of course, you may. I’ll just finish my tea and we can head over...” Harry sipped the last of his tea and laid down money on the table to pay for the drink.

They stood up and walked out the door, Jasper waving a hand to the grumpy barista as they walked out the door. “Ta, Carlotta! I’ll be seeing you.”

“Bye, Mr. Ealdwine,” the young woman called out in a bored voice. She clearly was not impressed with the bizarre man, if she ever had been.

—

Harry sighed with relief and sagged against the front door when the strange, portly Charms Master left Twelve Grimmauld Place. The man had been absolutely exhausting, extolling the quality of his Charms work on the window in his kitchen, claiming it the best version of the spell he had ever seen and insisting on shaking Harry’s hand on a job well done. After spending such a short amount of time with the man, he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to have to deal with his energy and enthusiasm for the next several years.

He shook his head to clear it. Hopefully Fletcher Breckinridge would respond to him soon, and would be much better suited to what Harry wanted to do. He was worried if the other Master were similar to Ealdwine and they were his only options. Maybe he would have to look elsewhere for a Charms apprenticeship or just scrap the idea all together. Maybe there was something else out there that would interest him, or be in a similar enough field.

—

Several days later, a response finally came from Fletcher Breckinridge. After the amount of time it had taken, Harry just figured that the man had seen his name and cast the letter aside. There were some people who didn’t see Harry as a war hero, but someone to be despised, and he understood and chose to ignore those people if they spoke out to him. He couldn’t help it if he survived when their loved ones did not, and nothing they or he said would ever change that fact.

It was with trepidation, therefore, that Harry slid his letter opener under the wax seal to open it. He set the letter opener aside and slid the letter out of the envelope and read the response.

—

_Mr. Potter,_

_I was very intrigued by your letter. I would like to interview you at your home, given that the majority of your Charms work has been done in your abode, and I can therefore assess your suitability at the same time. Respond with the earliest convenient time._

_Yours,_

_Master Fletcher Breckinridge III_


	5. Chapter 5

_Mr. Potter,_

_I was very intrigued by your letter. I would like to interview you at your home, given that the majority of your Charms work has been done in your abode, and I can therefore assess your suitability at the same time. Respond with the earliest convenient time._

_Yours,_

_Master Fletcher Breckinridge III_

—

The tone in the letter felt almost cold, snooty. Harry could feel the pretension oozing out of the it, from the fancy parchment to the wax seal to Breckinridge’s addition of “III” to the end of his name, but... he was in the field that interested Harry the most, with woodworking and building and remodelling. He would be an idiot to say no, for all that the man’s tone was off-putting. Harry scribbled a response with an available date a couple of days in the future - after all, if this man could take his time responding to Harry’s letter, then he could do the same to him. Make him wait a little as well. His temper satisfied, Harry sent the letter off with the barn owl and got up from his desk to call Hermione.

“Hello, Harry. How are you?” her voice called out from the other end of the line. Harry smiled at the receiver. It was good to hear her voice, even though it hadn’t been _that_ long since they last spoke.

“I’m fine. Ta, Hermione. Listen, I’ve finally owled those Charms Masters like you’ve been badgering me to do, and met with Jasper Ealdwine the other day—”

“You did it? You really did it?” Hermione cut him off excitedly.

Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling and counted to three. “Yes, Hermione, I did. If you would stop interrupting and let a man talk—”

“Right, right, I’m sorry, Harry. Go on.”

Harry exhaled, smiling. “Right, so I met with Jasper Ealdwine at this little Muggle cafe in London the other day, and he is a... cheerful sort of fellow. I don’t really know how to describe him. He’s a big older gent, and he’s been retired for a while, since the 70s. Anyway, he doesn’t really have a focus in a particular field of Charms work. He’d have me studying more broad-spectrum Charms work and said that I could pick my focus later on, in a couple of years.” His tone soured at that thought. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“And? That’s not such a terrible thing, right?” Hermione sighed at him. “It would give you a chance to... I don’t know, to see if there’s anything else of interest to you in the Charms field. You’ve only really tried out woodworking and remodelling with Grimmauld Place, and maybe it isn’t something that you would like to do long-term. You never know, and you certainly don’t know all the different vocations of work that are out there for Charms Masters. You may be selling yourself short, settling on one idea so soon.”

“I know!” Harry exclaimed, indignant. “I know that, Hermione. It’s just that this work I want to do is so interesting, so completely different from what I’d originally considered for myself, and I don’t want to give that up for _years_ before I can focus on it again. Do you understand?” 

Hermione sounded flustered when she responded. “Well of _course_ I understand that, Harry. It’s just it’s also important to keep your options open!”

“Well, in a few days I’m meeting with the other Charms Master Narcissa suggested to me, _Master_ Fletcher Breckinridge _the third._ ” He said the name with a dramatic flair, making Hermione giggle on the other end of the line.

“Why on _earth_ did you say his name like _that_?” She gasped out between giggles.

“ _Because_ , Hermione,” Harry continued with his theatrical voice, “he made a point to add that to the end of his name, _and_ wrote like a git on top of that. Seriously, you should read this letter. I don’t know if I can deal with this man with a straight face, he sounded so pompous.” 

“Ooooh now I _have_ to hear it. Please, Harry! Can you get the letter and read it to me?” Hermione practically begged.

Harry grinned. “All right, all right. Give me a minute and I’ll pop up to the study to grab it. Stay on the line, yeah?”

“Believe me, I do _not_ want to miss it. I’ll stay on.”

Harry set the receiver down on the table and rushed upstairs to where Fletcher Breckinridge _the third_ ’s letter still sat on top of his desk, snatched it and raced back down the stairs.

By the time he finished with his dramatic reading of Breckinridge’s letter, Hermione was in stitches.

“Oh, oh my goodness. That is just _awful_ , Harry!” Hermione chortled, wiping tears from her eyes. “But in all seriousness, if there is a chance of this man being the Charms Master you apprentice under, you really shouldn’t make fun of him.”

Harry gaped at the phone in his hand, then put it back up to his ear, sputtering, “But you’re the one who wanted to hear me read the letter!”

“Well, yes—” Hermione faltered, “—but even if others beg you, you really shouldn’t do it. Even if it _is_ hilarious.” Harry could hear the grin in her voice, the barely contained laughter.

“If you’re going to be like that, then you won’t get to hear anything about the man when I meet him,” Harry said.

“But-”

“Nope, not a word,” Harry threatened. “So behave. I’ll talk to you later, ‘Mione.”

“Fine, Harry. I’ll talk to you later.” Hermione sounded morose. “Meanie.”

A click, and the line went dead. Harry shook his head at the folly of women and hung up the phone on the table.

—

It was with trepidation, therefore, that Harry allowed Fletcher Breckinridge into his home two days later. The man was in his mid-fifties and tall, much taller than Harry. He had aged well and was fit, for all that he was middle aged by Muggle standards. Broad shoulders showed off wiry muscles, and the man’s salt and pepper hair was long and tied back in a horse tail. Strands fell against the sides of his face, framing it. The man was attractive and knew it, owned it like a cloak of power around his shoulders. He reminded Harry a little bit of Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Harry Potter,” the man rumbled, offering Harry his hand to shake.“So very nice to meet you. I must say that I am rather surprised that you live in a Muggle neighbourhood of all places. It must be nice for you, away from prying eyes as you would have in wizarding London.”

Harry shook the man’s hand firmly. “Yes, well I inherited this home from my late godfather, and saw it as a bit of a challenge at the time. You would not recognise the place as it was even a year ago, believe me.”

“Intriguing. Please do show me around, then, Mr. Potter.” There was a hum to the man’s voice, one that made something in Harry’s stomach flip. He wasn’t quite sure he liked it.

He took the man on the grand tour of Twelve Grimmauld Place, starting at the top floor and working their way down. Most of the Charms work he had done on the place was simple: complex work for someone not accustomed to the spells, but rather easy for someone who focused on building and remodelling Charms work. It wasn’t until they had gotten to the below-ground kitchen and its magicked bay window that the man was truly impressed. He stalked about the window at all angles, murmuring spells to reveal its makeup and the spells cast on it. The man’s wand was long and thin, made up of light white wood. It danced in the air as he worked, mesmerising Harry.

“Well, Harry - may I call you Harry? - I must say that this is an impressive piece of Charms work right here. This bay window is complex in its structure itself, and to take that complexity and add on another dimension of Charms work with the three-dimensional, changeable scenery - well, that, Harry, _that_ is a work of art. I would be very interested in having you at my workshop as an apprentice. I would be able to hone your abilities and expand upon everything that you have done here in your home. It will take several years, as all apprenticeships do, but by the end of it, your abilities will be vastly improved, and you could do this—” The taller man waved a tightly muscled arm around, as if to say ‘remodeling homes’ “—for a living. Or you could focus on furniture-making, repairs. Anything in that realm would be possible.” The man’s voice, his posture. Everything he did reminded Harry of a lioness stalking its prey. _How apropos_ , he thought.

The Boy Who Lived Twice leant against his kitchen table, affecting an air of contemplation. “That sounds... very tempting, Master Breckinridge.”

“Please, Harry, call me Fletcher,” the older man said cheerfully.

“Very well... Fletcher, your offer sounds rather attractive. I need to think on it. Could you give me a couple of days? I can owl you,” Harry said, trying to affect the calm self-assurance that this man seemed to wear like a second skin.

“Of course, Harry, of course you may.” Fletcher took one long step toward Harry, stepping a little closer than was necessarily appropriate. The older gentleman took Harry’s right hand in both of his, rumbling to him, “Just say the word. I’ll leave the address of my workshop here for you. I would simply love for you to join me there.”

He backed abruptly away from Harry and took his leave, bidding the younger man adieu with a wink. Harry shook himself out of his reverie and saw the Charms Master to the front door, confused and baffled by the meeting. Were all Charms Masters oddballs, and if so what did that mean for Harry’s sanity that he was considering becoming one himself?

—

_21 June 1999_

_Dear Narcissa,_

_My apologies that I haven’t written in a while. I would say I have been busy, but by normal standards I’ve been decidedly not. I finally met with Jasper Ealdwine_ _and Fletcher Breckinridge and am just trying to decide what to do. I think that Fletcher would be the best Charms Master to teach me in the field that interests me, because Mr. Ealdwine was so intent on teaching me the broader side of Charms work. I know that both are valid perspectives, but I really feel that what Fletcher has to teach me would be better for my understanding of the field within Charms that interests me the most._

_Am I making the right decision? I feel like I am, but I really am not sure. This is out of my depth and I could use some advice._

_Harry_

—

_22 June 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_It is good to hear from you, Harry. You certainly have a difficult decision to make on your hands. I cannot decide for you, and I am certain you knew that when you owled me. I can say that Jasper’s teachings will be... chaotic. He is very good at what he does, and allows his teaching to extend naturally from one subject to the next. You will never have a dull moment, and while it will take longer for you to reach that subject which interests you the most, it will be well worth it._

_Mr. Breckinridge, on the other hand, is in the field that interests you the most already. He has a workshop and a very hands-on approach to everything that he does. He will challenge your ideas and mind in the art of Charms in ways that you could not begin to imagine._

_Both would be good Charms Masters to apprentice under, it is just a matter of deciding what you want from your apprenticeship. Best of luck._

_Narcissa_

—

_24 June 1999_

_Narcissa,_

_I’ve been thinking a lot about this decision the past couple of days, and I really think that I should go with Fletcher. He already works in the field I am most interested in, and I think it would be in my best interest to apprentice under someone who is “hands-on” with his work. Thank you for your advice._

_Harry_

—

_24 June 1999_

_Dear Fletcher,_

_If you are still interested, I would like to accept your offer to apprentice under you. Please let me know what you need from me to continue forward with this venture._

_Thank you,_

_Harry Potter_

_—_

_24 June 1999_

_Dear Mr. Ealdwine,_

_Thank you for meeting with me the other day. I have decided to go a different route with my studies, and while I really do appreciate the offer of a Charms apprenticeship under you, I will have to decline it._

_All the best,_

_Harry Potter_

—

Harry read over all three of his letters before nodding to himself and sending them off, one by one over the course of the evening, with the barn owl. He really did need a name for the poor bird, he couldn’t just keep thinking of him as “the barn owl”, but it hurt to think of naming another owl and giving itself a personality in his heart and his mind.

Once the last letter was off, the Boy Who Lived yawned deeply and looked at the time on the watch he wore on his left wrist. A quarter past one in the morning. Well, it wasn’t the twenty fourth anymore after all, but who was checking that sort of thing? He hoped that the stupid barn owl would not awaken any of his letters’ recipients. That would be... awkward.

Harry sighed and got up from his desk chair, stretching out the kinks in his lower back and rolling his head around in circles on his neck to relieve some of the tension that had built up. He had spent much too long a time sitting at his desk, pouring over the letters and making sure that they were all right. It was time for bed.

With one last look at the study from the doorway, Harry shut off the lights and made his way back up the stairs to the bedroom that he had claimed as his own.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: description of PTSD-induced panic attack after the letter to Hermione in this chapter (at the end). You can skip it if it's triggering to you, the conversation is basically about how the events in the War affected Harry.

_25 June 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_That is wonderful news! I am so happy to hear that you accepted my invitation. Please do come over to my workshop on Goblin Crossing Way this morning at your earliest convenience._

_Yours,_

_Fletcher_

—

The letter was short and sweet, but Harry was so very tired that morning as he read it, yawning deeply. Still, the sooner he got started on his apprenticeship, the sooner he would be on his way to figuring out his career. At the very least he would become a Charms Master, and he could figure out what he wanted to do after that when the time came to it.

The Boy Who Did Not Sleep Enough brewed himself a second mug of tea, the large one that read “Everyone Deserves Tea” that Hermione had gotten him from some kitschy shop in Muggle London. It held twice the normal amount of tea, which he thought he would need to get through the next couple of hours.

While he could have Charmed the water to be boiling hot, Harry found that tea boiled the Muggle way tasted much better, on the whole, and so he stood leaning against his kitchen counter, willing the kettle to boil his water faster for life-preserving caffeinated tea. His toast popped from the toaster a few seconds later, and he stood like a zombie, spreading raspberry jam preserves on slightly charred white bread, staring into the space above his kettle, just waiting for the steam to rise as proof that he could soon be drinking _tea_. Not just any tea, either, no: this was the blackest of black teas.

Harry heaved an audible sigh of relief when the steam began to rise from the kettle on his stovetop, and he readily spooned in the right amount of tea leaves, pouring the deliciously hot water over them. The aroma of double bergamot earl grey wafted to his nose, and the Boy Who Was Deprived of Caffeine finally began to wake up.

A couple of hours and many more cups of tea later found Harry dressed in his best day robes, a forest green set with fern-coloured accents. He stood on the corner of Goblin Crossing Way in a section of wizarding London that he had never been to before. It was interesting, because he had always thought that Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were the only streets in all of wizarding London, only to find out after the war that there were many side streets and pockets of wizarding society scattered all throughout the metropolitan area.

This particular section of Wizarding London was very close to Paddington Station, and rather than apparate there, Harry had opted for Muggle transportation and took the Tube from his home, not too far from the Kings Cross/St Pancras station interchange. It had been a nice wake up to his day to complete the work of the many, _many_ cups of tea he had consumed.

The front of Master Fletcher Breckinridge III’s workshop was just as ostentatious as the man himself; bright purples and golds adorned his shop, with intricately designed wooden benches and tables of varying sizes displayed in the shop’s front window. Some of the furniture opened and closed cupboards and drawers on their own, showing off the quality and items within. 

The shop window drew the eye, and interestingly to the rest of the world - the Muggle world - the shop front was nothing more than a high-end clothing store. Harry could see the veil that was placed on the entire building, and the layer seen by non-magical folk was barely visible to him, but it was there if you just knew how to look for it. Harry was intrigued to see a royal warrant beside the entrance inscribed with the words, “by Appointment to HM the Queen.” Of course Fletcher would be commissioned to create furniture for the Queen herself - why would Harry be surprised by that bit of news?

Steeling his courage - _What kind of Gryffindor are you, Harry?_ , he asked himself - the Boy Who May Be Over Caffeinated Now headed for the front door and twisted the knob. A bell jingled above the door where it had been struck, and Harry stepped in nervously. Now that he was there, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

The workshop was much larger than it had appeared from the street, and was full of clanging and chopping and sanding and staining. Large sections of wood - from the rough- hewn to the nearly completed - soared about the interior of the workshop and set about making themselves useful. There was a great finesse to the work, and Harry stood stock-still, fascinated by it all. Smaller sections of wood whizzed past the Boy Wonder’s head and he just barely managed to duck in time. 

_Thank goodness for Seeker reflexes_ , he thought to himself.

“Hello?” Harry called out tentatively. For all that there was a lot of movement and things flying about and being made, he had yet to spot a single person in the workshop. “Is anyone there?”

The flying bits of wood slowed to a stand still, then started up again.

“Harry, Harry, there you are! I was beginning to worry about you.” He heard the mock reproachful voice coming from above and looked up to the second storey balcony, the structure wrought in what looked to be gold but probably was more for show than anything else. It made Harry cringe internally.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Breck - I mean, Fletcher. I am not typically a morning person, and it took a little bit of effort for me to make it out of my house.” Harry sounded rueful, like it was something that he did not care to admit.

“Quite alright, Harry, quite alright,” Fletcher called down to Harry. “I’ll be down in just a moment. Until then, please feel free to look around. Just don’t touch anything, all right? I don’t remember what Charmed objects I have down there that like to take a bite out of human flesh any chance they get.” The Master disappeared on the other side of the balcony to what Harry could only assume would be his own study or private studio. Harry decided to stand still; he couldn’t tell if Fletcher was joking or not and would rather keep all of his limbs intact. Given the swift movement of the objects flying around him, Harry was unsure of whether or not it was safe to venture beyond the foyer of this rather bizarre little workshop.

Seconds later, the tall, fit man was walking toward Harry amid the cacophony that surrounded them. Fletcher Breckinridge III gave Harry a huge grin and grabbed ahold of the younger man’s hand, gripping it firmly.

“Well met, again, Harry. Well met indeed. I am so glad that you accepted my invitation to apprentice under me,” the man’s gravelly voice was clearly something that Harry would just have to get used to. He was going to be hearing a lot of it over the next couple of years. 

“Now then, let’s get you oriented in here, shall we? Breckinridge Boutique Furniture is a company that was founded by my grandfather, Fletcher Breckinridge the First, a couple of centuries ago. This is the original workshop, and has its own... eccentricities, that you will need to learn to adapt to.”

The two wizards spent what was remaining of the morning touring the workshop. Harry quickly discovered that beyond Fletcher himself, there were several other Charms Masters who worked under him. The workshop was a massive complex that took up ten times the amount of room than it should have been able to if it were a Muggle establishment.

Fletcher showed Harry around the building, to the various workshop rooms that held anything from large sheets of wood and fixtures to the finished pieces ready for purchase.

“We work on custom pieces for clients who can afford them - say, for example, a chest of drawers that will only open to the owner’s wand signature and a spell, or a desk with infinite intricate hidden compartments.” Fletcher was showing Harry examples of their work as he went, exploring farther into the depths of the workshop. Harry was overwhelmed, to say the least, with all the different kinds of workings Fletcher’s workshop had going at once. He was introduced to the other Charms Masters as they went about their day, shaping and sculpting wood and metal into usable items.

Fletcher continued, “Then, for those who cannot afford a custom piece of furniture but are looking for something... slightly more affordable -” Harry learnt quickly that everything from Fletcher’s workshop was _expensive_ and even the ‘cheapest’ items were far too expensive for the everyday witch or wizard. “- we also have a line of furniture that is ready-designed, and made to order. The customer has an option as to the colour or type of wood, whether they want brass or silver hardware, that sort of thing, but otherwise it is simple enough to whip together for someone walking in from the street.”

Harry nodded his head along to everything, taking in as much information as he could. They wound their way up a spiral staircase to where Fletcher had greeted him from earlier - had it really been hours ago now? - and into the Charms Master’s private study. The room was brightly-lit with glass sconces that hung from chains attached to the ceiling. The light flickered as if there were candles in them, but emitted a steady, bright glow. The walls were ornately draped with gold and purple damask cloth, and there were portraits on the walls of Fletcher’s ancestors - little plaques in the frames marked them out as Fletcher Breckinridge I and Fletcher Breckinridge II, and the two men glared sternly down at Harry, who turned away from their steady gazes.

Fletcher’s desk was large and covered with blueprints and concept sketches, everything neatly organized. Harry wondered how many hidden compartments the man had in his desk, but shook the thought away. There was no point in nosing about. There was a second, smaller desk in a corner of the room, far enough away from the portraits that hung over Fletcher’s desk to avoid their constant gaze. The desk was stacked high with books, some so worn and cracked he wondered if they had been penned by Fletcher Breckinridge I or his contemporaries, and others crisp and new. Harry supposed that this desk would be his, judging by the lack of personal touches or papers.

“Now,” Fletcher said, “here is where I do my experimental designs, creating new spells or warping current spells to fit our needs. There is a barrier around the room just in case any of the magic becomes volatile, to keep it contained to this space. Next door, there is a workshop that is devoid of all magic, where you train as a Muggle craftsman does to work wood and metal, to shape it and create something... what that something is is up to you and your skills, of course. I find that learning the Muggle way to craft furniture is the best possible base for you to then train in the magics of the craft and become a better craftsman.

“For the first year of your apprenticeship, or until I think you are ready, you will work exclusively in this room and the Muggle workshop. You will be training hard to learn the concepts and spells behind the basic work we do here, and once you have mastered those, will be able to move on to the workshops downstairs to shape raw materials into something. It will take many years to become a Master of this craft, Harry. Are you ready to begin?”

Harry smiled up at the other wizard and nodded his head.

—

_2 July 1999_

_Hermione,_

_A week has passed since I started my apprenticeship under Fletcher, and he is working me to the bone, it feels, some days. There are tomes and tomes of theory and spells to go through, and I’m required to memorise it all - what I wouldn’t give for your study habits and memory! I’ll get there eventually, it will just take a long time. I feel like every time I finish one book, there is another just waiting to take its place._

_I’m not allowed to work magic yet. It’s strictly reading only, at least for another couple of months. Then once I have finished with the books (I will never be finished with the books), there is another room adjacent to Fletcher’s study where I will learn to master woodcraft in the Muggle way with my hands. I have to say, I am looking forward to that quite a bit, as I did everything by wand in Grimmauld Place (except the wall with Walburga Black’s portrait on it, but that’s another story...) so it will be a very different kind of experience to actually have to shape and carve wood and stuff with tools and my hands._

_Fletcher is an... interesting Master. I don’t really know how to explain him. He is intelligent, but the way he talks! I swear, he reminds me of Gilderoy Lockhart some days and it can be hard to keep a straight face when that happens. Did I tell you he’s made cabinets for the Queen? He has a royal warrant and everything! I can’t believe I'm training under someone who has made something for the Queen... pretty cool!_

_Anyway, I need to head to bed. Fletcher is an early riser, and I am getting forced to change my sleeping habits. I bought a kettle for Fletcher’s office because he didn ‘t have one - can you imagine, an Englishman who doesn't drink tea?? Blasphemy!_

_Harry_

—

Harry blearily rubbed his face, willing himself to wake up as he sipped at his third cup of tea of the day. The tome Fletcher had set on his desk that morning - Common Compendium of Charms and Craft - was particularly thick and difficult to read and the sleepy man found himself reading and rereading passages, failing to understand them. He sipped the last dregs of tea from his cup and set it down with a _thunk_ on the wooden surface of the desk, stretching out the kinks in his back from leaning over the table for far too long. He felt the little _pops_ that came from his vertebrae snapping back into place along his spine. Harry winced and looked around, setting his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose more solidly.

A hand settled on his shoulder, making Harry jerk back, almost falling out of his chair. He jumped, spinning around on his feet to face the person behind him, wand raised. Fear thrummed through his veins and his breath came in quick bursts. It took another moment before Harry realized that the man behind him was just Fletcher, his hands raised up to his chest, showing that he was unarmed. The Charms Master’s face showed shock and a little worry, and Harry took a shuddering breath, lowering his wand and sheathing it back in his arm guard.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Fletcher asked, slowly lowering his hands back to his sides. He treated Harry like one would a wounded animal, something that might lash out at any second.

Harry grimaced and scrubbed at his face roughly with his hands, stalling. For a moment, he had been back in the war. He had thought, in his exhaustion, that a Snatcher had found him again, and had been ready to fight for his life. Harry had almost _attacked_ Fletcher. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trying to calm his pounding heart to something more manageable.

“I'll be all right,” Harry said. “I just... didn’t remember where I was, for a moment there. I didn’t mean anything by it, I'm so sorry.” He squeezed his arms with his hands until his knuckles turned white. “I forget, sometimes. It’s like I’m right back there, on the run again. It’s the reason why I didn’t want to be an Auror. _Couldn’t_ be an Auror.”

Fletcher took a step toward Harry, reaching out with one hand. He stopped before touching Harry’s hand, asking for permission with his eyes. Harry nodded, and turned his head away as Fletcher set his hand over Harry’s on his arm, not trying to loosen his grip or pull his hand away, just resting it there. A warmth of someone else that Harry didn't realized he'd needed in that moment. He took another breath, and another, until he was able to release his hands from his arms. Fletcher took Harry’s hand in his, lifting it up closer to his face to read the stark-white words that had appeared there in his tight grip on his arms.

“ _‘I must not tell lies?’_ ” Fletcher queried, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry snatched his hand back and stuffed both hands roughly in the pockets of his trousers. “Another remnant of the war.”

He left it at that. He didn't know Fletcher well enough yet to go into all the layers of history and issues he had now from his experiences growing up in the Wizarding World. He wasn’t going to talk about his night terrors, his sleepless nights to avoid hearing the screams of all those who died before and during the war. The scar on his forehead wasn’t the only one that Harry had, and not even his closest friends knew just how far the scars ran in his mind.

“Ah,” Fletcher said, taking a small step back from Harry, no longer boxing him in to the corner of the room. “Well, I think that you have had enough work for today. Why don ‘t you head on home and make some herbal tea, relax?”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked him, hesitating. “The day isn’t even half over yet, I'm sure I can —”

“Really, Harry,” Fletcher interrupted, resting a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It's not a problem. You go rest and I will see you in the morning, all right?” He smiled down at the younger man, who attempted a weak smile of his own in response.

“Yeah, okay sure. I will see you tomorrow morning, then,” Harry said, grabbing his jacket from the peg on the wall and squeezing past Fletcher in the confined space that was around his desk. He thought he felt the brush of something on his back, but Harry shook his head. He must have been imagining it. Harry shoved his arms into the sleeves of the light jacket, shrugging it on.

“Have a good evening, Fletcher,” he said.

Fletcher murmured his response to Harry’s receding back, but the Boy Who Lived Twice did not hear it.

“Good night indeed, Harry. Good night indeed.” Fletcher’s voice rumbled with a faint tint of dark humor that Harry would have been confused and concerned by, had he heard it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for a change in perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in updating this! The holidays snatched away my time, and I'm running two zines right now, which have taken up all of my free time. Here is a small update for you and - FINALLY - the appearance of Draco Malfoy! Enjoy, and I hope to update again very soon.
> 
> Note that there are references to PTSD in this (and the next) chapter.

_13 July 1999_  
  
_Narcissa,_  
  
_Training under Fletcher continues to progress steadily. I am learning quite a bit under his tutelage and I thank you, again, for helping me to reach out and begin my apprenticeship. I can honestly say that I would not have done it without your prodding, and I don’t know how I could possibly repay you for helping me get my life back on track._  
  
_I have been invited by the Ministry of Magic to attend a banquet honoring the Orphans of War project, and the very thought of going sends my heart pounding. I don’t know if you were invited - I would think that you were, but I don’t rightly know how these sorts of things are done. Anyway, I was wondering, if you were interested, if you would accompany me to the banquet? I could use a friendly face there, someone to talk to who isn’t trying to get something out of me._  
  
_I completely understand if you are unable to go, or if you have other things going on. I have enclosed the information regarding the banquet, just in case. I would love to attend with you. If you want to go._  
  
_Thank you,_  
  
_Harry_  
  
  
—  
  
  
Harry sighed to himself, watching the barn owl wing its way to his newfound friend. The letter from the Ministry of Magic had basically been a demand from Minister Shacklebolt to get out of his house and show his face. Normally he would do what he could to accommodate the man - he was, after all, a part of the Order of the Phoenix - but all those people in a big space scared him, if he were being honest with himself.  
  
Harry struggled to overcome the feeling that there was always someone watching him, waiting for him to slip up, to attack him. That was one of the many reasons why he had become a bit of a recluse in the last year. Why he and Ginny fought and fought and fought until they just ended it all. She wanted to move on with her life. He...couldn’t. Ginny just couldn’t understand how difficult it was for Harry to move on from everything that had happened.  
  
He groaned and slammed his hands down hard on the desk, to feel something other than this horrible maw of a gaping hole that he was plunging down into. He couldn’t breathe, it was too much, too fast. Harry tried to clear his mind, thinking of the open sky, the wind in his hair. The feeling of the broom between his legs as he soared aimlessly through the clouds. Free. Harry’s tense muscles began to loosen up, and he found he could breathe again. He took slow, steadying breaths, letting the calm of the image in his mind wash over him.  
  
—  
  
Narcissa Malfoy sat in her breakfast room, going over the letters of the day. Her white-blonde hair was coiffed in a long braid that flowed over one shoulder, and she wore a rather simple purple satin dressing gown picked out with embroidery of irises down the hems. She took a sip of tea from the delicate teacup at her elbow and settled it back onto its saucer, perusing some of the more tedious - though pressing - correspondence when Harry Potter’s barn owl flew through her open window.

 

Narcissa was used to the creature arriving at odd hours, though the house elves knew better than to disturb her with owls in the middle of the night. They would care for the creature if Harry’s letters arrived late - which she had quickly discovered early on in their correspondence happened fairly regularly. The poor man had managed to seclude himself from the world, much like she and Draco did once the trials were all over and done with. Better to stay out of the eye of the public unless truly necessary and avoid their scorn or pity in equal measure.  
  
Narcissa petted the barn owl absentmindedly as she cut open the letter with her penknife. She read through the contents thoughtfully, contemplating the issue that Harry presented. As one of the Old Families, she had been invited by rote of tradition, though of course, she had planned to decline. No one wanted a known, incarcerated Death Eater’s wife parading about at a dinner meant for the children of those whose deaths he may have caused.  
  
The situation presented by Harry, however, was an interesting political move. He certainly was not thinking of it as such, although he most definitely should. Harry did not think of the ramifications of the position he would put the both of them in - potentially for the better, for the both of them. He would be showing the mending of bridges with the Malfoy family to the public eye, which would in turn aid in Narcissa and Draco’s return to their old social standing.  
  
Narcissa did not want to use her newfound friendship with the man in that way and thought on it for some time. She had just finished taking the last sip of her first cup of tea when Draco sauntered into the room and settled himself across the table from her.  
  
“More tea, Mother?” He asked, lifting the teapot from its place at the centre of the table.  
  
“That would be lovely dear, thank you,” she said, holding out her teacup on its saucer for him to pour.  
  
“What news of the outside world today, Mother?” Draco asked, assuming a stance of nonchalance. Narcissa narrowed her eyes imperceptibly at her son. She knew him well enough; the man may as well be sitting on the edge of his seat. She let him stew a moment, sipping at her tea.  
  
“I received a letter from Harry inviting me to join him at the Orphans of War banquet on August 31st,” she said finally, settling her teacup on its saucer on the table. Narcissa watched Draco’s reaction out of the corner of her eye: his entire body jerked before settling back into a comfortable position in his chair. He Conjured a teacup and saucer from the kitchen cupboard to pour himself a - slightly shaky - cup of tea. Narcissa smiled to herself, hidden behind the cup at her mouth.  
  
“Is that so?” Draco said, inspecting his nails. “Well, I simply can’t let you go to the wolves without company, even  _with_ the Boy Who Lived Twice. I shall attend with you as representative of the Malfoy family, so that you may attend with Har- with Potter.”  
  
“My, my, Draco. I must say this _is_ a surprise.” It wasn’t, but Narcissa felt the need to let the jab settle. It had been obvious from his days at Hogwarts with Harry that Draco’s little feud with the boy had been more than just spurred on by hatred. She had never said anything, of course, to her son or her husband, but rather kept the thought in the back of her mind on the off chance that something more should ever transpire.  
  
“I believe that it is time for the Malfoy family to come out of our seclusion, would you not agree, Mother?” Draco asked her, looking up through his fringe at her. That was another change in Draco that Narcissa could not help but appreciate — now that he was not under his father’s thumb, the man found that he could let his own styles and choices take over. There was no more severely gelled hair for her son, which enabled him to look much more like his nineteen years of age and not like a miniature Lucius Malfoy.  
  
“You are quite right, Draco. Shall I tell Harry to be expecting us, then?” Narcissa raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Yes of course, Mother.” Draco finished off his tea and stood, stretching. “Well, I am off to the library. Would you like for me to pen the response to the Ministry for the Orphans of War banquet, or would you prefer to do it?”  
  
“I’ll write it, thank you, Draco. Enjoy the library, my dear.” Narcissa waved Draco off to his work.  
  
They had agreed that when Lucius was incarcerated that it was time to take control of their ancestral Malfoy mansion. Not only had they been renovating the building from the cellars to the rafters, but Draco had tasked himself with the removal and disposal of the less savory tomes in the family library. Anything Dark or dangerous was taken to the Ministry to be catalogued and burnt by the appropriate authorities, to show that the Malfoys were making an effort to turn the page on their family’s history, as it were.  
  
Narcissa smiled to herself as she set herself to the task of penning her replies to Harry and the Ministry of Magic. This was certainly proving to become one of the more interesting banquets she had attended in quite some time. She could hardly wait.  
  
—  
  
The first month of Harry’s apprenticeship passed swiftly, and with minimal discomfort. He continued to study and read all of the volumes of texts that Fletcher provided him, and memorised as much of it as he was able to do. Harry’s 19th birthday came and went without much thought, at least to him, though the Weasleys put on a big family to-do for him, and Narcissa sent him a lovely letter with a package containing a smart set of gloves and a very expensive-looking watch. Harry could only assume that they were the best of quality and was very careful with them, not bringing the watch with him to the workshop in case something fell on him or it got smashed and broke. He could never take the chance with it.

  
Weeks more passed, and it was finally time for the Orphans of War fundraiser banquet. The days seemed to speed past Harry, until it was the day of the event and he could not help but to worry and stress over every little thing.  
  
He wore the gloves Narcissa had gifted him for the very first time that night, and wore the wristwatch proudly. They had discussed in length over the past month their plans for the evening, and though it was their first time to properly meet in person since the time Harry had defended Draco’s actions to a full Wizengamot court, he felt that he was quite nearly ready for what the evening would bring.  
  
The doorbell rang at the entrance to 12 Grimmauld Place. Narcissa had offered to pick Harry up at his home, given the last time he had been at Malfoy Manor had been during their kidnapping during the war, and Harry appreciated the gesture.  
  
He swished his way down the stairs to the entrance of his home, taking a moment to steel his nerves before opening the door to his awaited guests.  
  
Narcissa and Draco stood on the stoop to 12 Grimmauld Place, looking resplendent in close to matching black and red silk robes. Narcissa’s gown was simple and lush, the skirt cascading from a knot on her right hip to flow to her feet. The gown was studded with silver and black accents, with a short black cape that tapered at her sides. Draco’s outfit for the evening was the reverse, though it created a similar effect of awed respect on the viewer. The sleek black lines made him seem taller, older. His blond hair wasn’t pulled back in a slick of gel, like it had been when they went to school together, and created a ruffle that covered one eye. It looked good on him.  
  
It was then that Harry realized he had been staring.  
  
“Oh sorry.” Harry shook his head. “Hello Mrs- I mean, Narcissa.” He gave a slight, awkward bow to the Malfoy Matriarch and nodded his head at his ex-classmate as a sort of hello. “Draco. Would you like to come in and see the house before we go?”  
  
Narcissa smiled. “Another time, I think, Harry. This is an occasion to which we should _not_ be fashionably late.”  
  
“Oh yes, of course. You’re right, let me just grab my cloak...” Harry was mentally smacking himself for his stupidity. Of course, they didn’t have time for a tour of the house, they had a banquet to get to. He grabbed his fancy-occasion cloak from the peg on the wall and threw it over his shoulders, then joined the two Malfoys outside of his home.  
  
The two stood waiting beside an inconspicuous looking town car, and a house elf waited behind the wheel for them dressed in a miniature chauffeur’s outfit, complete with black driver’s cap. The moment the creature saw Harry appear, it jumped out of the front seat, running around the car (well, more like hopping) to open the back door for the waiting wizards and witch.  
  
“Thank you, Bimby,” Draco said to the house elf as he bent to step into the car. Harry allowed himself a moment’s confused surprise at the appreciation Draco showed his house elf, and then put it to the back of his mind. He could tell that Draco was attempting, in some small way, to show civility to Harry, and he appreciated the gesture. He wondered if it was just that, a gesture, but shook his head. He didn’t want to think like that, with his tenuous friendship forming with Narcissa. If he befriended Draco’s mother, it was only right for him to try to befriend Draco, as well. Even if they had been schoolboy nemeses, which just seemed so ridiculous now.  
  
They all settled into their seats comfortably, Harry sitting backward in the car facing toward Narcissa and Draco.  
  
There was an awkward pause as the car started up, and then headed off much more quickly than a normal Muggle car should, but honestly, Harry expected that. He tapped his knees with his fingers to an unknown beat, glancing from mother to son.  
  
“So Harry, how are your studies coming along under the tutelage of Master Breckinridge?” Narcissa asked smoothly.  
  
Harry blinked. “Oh, erm, very well I think. I’m mostly just reading lots of books on charms, and Fletcher quizzes me on what I’ve read. Once I finish one book, there’s another one waiting for me. I doubt it will ever end, to be completely honest.”  
  
“Most likely not, Harry,” Narcissa responded with a smile. “To become a Master in any field is to be a lifelong endeavour. I am very much pleased to hear of your progress, though. I am sure that it will be very rewarding over time.”  
  
Harry grinned at the Malfoy matriarch, relief flooding his veins. It was interesting that he was so enamoured of her praise, and he turned his gaze to look at Draco, who had a small look of surprise on his face, glancing between his mother and Harry, his old arch nemesis. Draco saw Harry looking at him and twitched.  
  
“It’s good to see you, Draco,” Harry said honestly. “I’m glad to see you doing well.”  
  
Draco put on an affected air and attempted to stretch and cross his leg over his knee in the cramped space of the town car, failing miserably and looking much like a disgruntled cat. His lips made a little moue of distaste and he settled his feet back on the floor of the car.  
  
“I am doing well enough, thank you, Po - thank you, Harry,” Draco stumbled to use Harry’s first name, rather than the surname that was his habit from school. “Yes, Mother and I have spent much of our time of late redoing the Manor from top to bottom. You probably wouldn’t recognis- _shite_ , no, sorry, I didn’t mean...”  
  
Draco cringed and glanced away from Harry. He took a deep breath, calming his nerves that had spiked slightly at the mention.  
  
“It’s ok, Draco.” Harry took a shallow breath, letting the air out through his nose. “You’re right, the only time I’ve been in the Malfoy Manor was during the war when we were caught by the Snatchers. It... doesn’t hold the best of memories for me, but I am sure that whatever modifications you have been working on in the Manor will have changed it drastically. I would like to see it, if you want, when it’s finished?”  
  
The slightly awkward, stilted conversation continued as the town car wended its way through London to the charity banquet. They finally slowed to a halt in a queue of cars, and Harry glanced out the window to look up at the mansion the Ministry had rented out - at a reduced rate given the event to be held there - and whistled. Rows of columns made up the facade of the building, lights shining upward to highlight the magnificent features. It looked like a Greek-inspired design, and Harry itched to get his hands on schematics for the building and see how it was made. If it was made by Muggle means, it was all the more fascinating to him.  
  
“We should be another ten minutes, Mistress,” the house elf driver squeaked. “You has time to get ready to be seen.”  
  
The three companions did a final check-over of their attire, Narcissa whisking away a bit of dirt that spotted Harry’s pants leg and murmuring a Charm to shine his black shoes a little cleaner. Draco looked immaculate and perfect to Harry’s eyes, even as he tucked a bit of his hair nervously behind one ear.  
  
Finally, the town car stopped at the entrance to the mansion, and the house elf put the car in park to run around and open the side doors for his master and mistress with a slight bow.  
  
Cameras flashed as first Harry, then Draco got out, and the two held out their hands for Narcissa, which she held as she stepped out of the town car.  
  
“Mr. Potter, what are you doing with the Malfoys?”  
  
“Harry! Harry, just a question!”  
  
“Over here, Mr. Potter!”  
  
The three ignored all the questions by reporters from the Daily Prophet. Since Harry had invited Narcissa as his guest, he held out his arm to her, elbow crooked, and she placed her palm on his arm as the three made their way to the doorway of the mansion.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of PTSD in this chapter.

The ballroom that they were ushered into was ornate, to say the very least. Harry recognised the style of architecture from one of the Muggle reference books Fletcher had given him to read. It was all done up in the French Rococo style, with flourishes and curved details painted in a bright gold crawling up the columns that contrasted with the bright, off-white walls. Windows covered two of the walls, and even their frames were sprawling with gold leaves and flowers. Circular paintings adorned the walls, spaced evenly about the room halfway up, depicting — Harry could only assume — the family who owned this grand estate. 

He looked up as they walked into the room, and even the ceiling was painted, much like the Sistine Chapel. The entire expanse of the ceiling was covered in angels floating in clouds, huddled together or reaching out to one another. As with all Wizarding paintings, these angels moved, flying through the clouds as they shifted, curling into different forms or whisping away off the side of the ceiling.    
  
The whispers started as Harry and the Malfoys made their entrance into the ballroom. Narcissa’s hand gripped tighter on Harry’s arm, but otherwise her nerves were not visible to the outside world. Her face showed only a gentle calm, and she smiled sweetly at Harry, leaning in close to his ear.   
  
“Don’t let them get to you, Harry,” Narcissa murmured to him. “Just keep smiling and move forward to our table, and they will all settle down eventually.”   
  
Harry nodded at Narcissa with a tight smile and placed one shaking hand over hers on his arm in thanks. They greeted people as they passed them, but largely ignored everything and everyone around them. Draco took the lead, guiding them to their table, with Harry and Narcissa walking in his wake.   
  
The Malfoys and Harry were seated together at a table near one of the walls, and Harry was immensely grateful for the gesture. He had felt nervous, making that request of Kingsley, but the Minister seemed to understand Harry’s wish to have a wall at his back that was close to a door. Harry let out a breath and pulled out a chair for Narcissa. She thanked him and swept out her skirts to settle into the chair. Harry then sat on one side of her, and at Narcissa’s insistence that young people sit together, Draco only slightly awkwardly took the seat on the other side of Harry. 

  
The tables were smaller, with seating for six, and the name cards across the table from them weren’t ones that Harry recognized. The occupants of those seats had yet to appear, though more and more attendees continued to trickle into the ballroom. Two of the three finally joined them, but turned toward one another and ignored Harry and the Malfoys completely, which stung Harry a little, but one look at Narcissa washed that feeling away.   
  
The trio were some of the last to arrive at the banquet, and as such the majority of the guests were already seated, though there were still many milling about to chat with friends and acquaintances. Harry looked up from his fingers, running them along the table cloth in an effort to calm his nerves, to see Hermione making her way toward them. Harry stood up hurriedly to greet her, nearly knocking over his chair but righting it quickly.   
  
“Hermione, how are you doing?” Harry asked, enveloping his friend in a hug. “How are the goblins treating you?”   
  
Hermione huffed at Harry with a lopsided smile on her face. “Everything has been settled for a week now, thank Merlin. Everyone can go back to their normal lives and we can move on to other, smaller projects. I feel like I need a break. Or a drink.”   
  
“That's great news, ‘Mione!” Harry exclaimed. He heard a light, polite cough behind him, and glanced behind his shoulder to see that Narcissa and Draco were both looking up at them.   
  
“Oh, I’ m sorry. ‘Mione, where are you sitting? Want to sit with us for a bit? I don't know if you ever properly met her, this is Narcissa Malfoy, Draco’s mum. Narcissa, this is one of my best friends, Hermione Granger.”   
  
Hermione mouthed,  _ ‘Draco?’ _ at Harry where the two Malfoys couldn't see, but held out her hand to the Malfoy matriarch.   
  
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy,” she said. “Harry has told me so much about you from your correspondence with him this summer.”   
  
Narcissa rose gracefully from her seat and grasped Hermione’s hand in hers. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Granger. Please, call me Narcissa.”   
  
Cameras flashed in the distance, and Harry could swear that one of the newspaper photographers had taken a photo of Hermione and Narcissa shaking hands, but he chose to ignore it. They were in public, and anyone could take a photo of them if they wanted to at an event like this.  _ Everything _ was under public scrutiny. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.   
  
“Well, Harry, I’m a table over and it looks like dinner is about to start, so I should get back to Ron. We ‘ll talk after dinner?”   
  
Harry looked over to where Hermione gestured to see that Ron was sitting at a table with many of their old classmates from Dumbledore’s Army. The redhead’s arms were crossed and there was a scowl on his face as he glared at Harry.  _ Uh oh. That was going to be a problem. _ __   
  
“Y-yeah, we can talk after the banquet. Good seeing you, ‘Mione.”   
  
Harry sat back down with a  _ thump _ when Hermione walked away. He tried to calm his nerves, breathing in and out like the Healer had recommended. He was plucking at the table cloth again when he felt a hand covering his, and he looked up to see Narcissa staring at him, a worried expression on her face.   
  
“Harry, do you need anything?” She asked him. “Tea, a walk outside? There is a door right over there, you won't be missed if you need to leave for a moment.”   
  
Harry took another deep breath and screwed his eyes shut, rubbing at them with his free hand. He settled his glasses back down on the bridge of his nose.   
  
“Thank you, Narcissa. I’ll be okay. Maybe a cup of tea would be good, but I can do this. I can.”   
  
Narcissa patted his hand reassuringly and murmured to his tea cup. Hot earl grey with a splash of milk appeared, and she picked it up by the saucer to hand to Harry, who murmured his thanks to her.   
  
The tea settled the nerves that had been building up in Harry’s gut, and he was able to enjoy the meal, for the most part. There was a raffle on some magical items throughout the night, and he bid on a few interesting Charmed toys and other things that came up. He didn't end up winning anything, but that wasn't the point of the night, to him. He had money to spend, and the Orphans of War project was one that he held close to his heart. They could use the money more than his bank vault.   
  
It took several courses before Draco started to really open up to Harry, but by the end of the dinner, the three were sharing stories about the remodels of their homes and the men’s early time at Hogwarts — they deftly avoided the latter end of Harry and Draco’s Hogwarts career and all of the buried bones of their past.   
  
The night was nearing its end when Harry heard a purposeful cough at his left shoulder. He had been in the middle of telling Narcissa about a Quidditch match where he and Draco had been neck and neck to catch the snitch, and there was a wide grin on his face as he turned to see who was interrupting him. His expression immediately soured and Harry could feel Narcissa’s hand on his knee where it couldn’t be seen, reassuring him.   
  
“Reese Ochoa, long time no see,” Harry said icily.   
  
The older gentleman was rail thin and sported a deep hunter green set of robes that made him appear even sharper. His cheekbones looked like they could cut paper and there was an amiable expression on the man’s face that thinly masked his acidic nature. Ochoa’s moustache twirled on the ends, set in wax to stay precisely maintained, and it made the man look like a Disney villain to Harry. He had been set at odds with Ochoa, who sat on the Wizengamot trial that had attempted to put away Draco for war crimes, and he was the sole holdout who had caused Draco’s court case to drag for weeks longer than it should have.   
  
“Consorting with criminals now, Mr. Potter?” The man’s thin, reedy voice grated on Harry’s ears and made a flush rise to his face. “Isn’t it bad enough that your testimony — and I am certain quite a bit of money to grease the wheels — bought the Malfoys their freedom? Now you must feel the need to force their company upon good, upstanding citizens as well?”   
  
“Mr. Ochoa, kindly keep your inaccurate prejudices to yourself,” Harry bit back. “Narcissa and Draco are both good people and that was proven time and again during their trials. Just because you don’t think witches and wizards deserve a second chance doesn’t mean the rest of us hold that opinion, so if you will please remove yourself from our vicinity, we were having a lovely evening and would like to continue to do so without rude interruptions.”   
  
With that, Harry turned away from the offending man and picked up his after-dinner coffee and took a long sip to calm his nerves. He was still on edge.   
  
“You heard Harry, Mr. Ochoa. Move along before we must persuade you to do so,” Narcissa said in a clipped tone.   
  
“We can be very persuasive when the need arises,” Draco added, leaning back in his chair with one arm bent over the back of the seat, holding himself in that seemingly casual pose as he threatened Ochoa.   
  
Ochoa brought his hands to his lapels and straightened his robes in a huff. He stood taller as if trying to show his superiority to the group at the table.   
  
“Just what one would expect from criminals. I’m keeping an eye on you. All of you.”   
  
Harry didn’t even bother to turn around and look at the man; he was still bristling and would not have responded well, so it was all he could do to hold on to his coffee cup without his hand shaking.   
  
“Have a good evening, Mr. Ochoa,” Narcissa said coolly, nodding her head politely at him. He let out a sharp breath through his nose and turned on his heel to walk away briskly.   
  
“Thank you,” Harry said quietly, his lips hidden behind his coffee cup that was still raised to his face. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the Malfoys just yet.   
  
Narcissa patted Harry’s knee with her hand and reached out to lift up her own coffee cup from the table. She scooped two sugar cubes from the dish on the table and stirred them into the cup, setting the stirring spoon on its saucer and picking up the cup to take a sip.   
  
“It was nothing, Harry,” she responded. “I have plenty of experience with Mr. Ochoa and his lot; a great many of them think that they are untouchable and above the rest of us, but they all have skeletons in their closets. If needed, we have the ability to dust them off and bring them to the light.” She took a long sip of her coffee and looked to the side at Harry. “Don’t let him worry you, dear.”   
  
Draco cleared his throat and Harry turned in his seat to face him.   
  
“Thank you,” Draco said quietly. “For defending us. You didn’t need to do that.”   
  
Harry stared at him in disbelief. “Of course I had to defend you, you were cleared of all charges and the man was acting as if you were nothing but criminals! The both of you.” Harry’s voice raised in volume, and the conversations in the tables beside them quieted as people eavesdropped.   
  
Harry noticed this and flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a scene… I just can’t stand people like that.”   
  
Draco’s lips quirked in a small rueful smile, and he said, “Not everyone sees things in such black and white terms as you, Harry.”   
  
He gestured at the filled banquet hall with his hand. “To many here, Mother and I will always be criminals, no matter that everything we did during the war was under duress and that in normal circumstances we would have never done  _ any _ of the things that we were forced to do. They just don’t understand what a person can do when there is no other option. They always think that there must be another way, that they would be stronger than you, fight back, do something different, when they have never been in that situation and could never know what they would do in your place.”   
  
Harry tilted his head, looking between the two Malfoys. “I know exactly what you mean. Many of the wizards and witches on the Wizengamot managed to avoid the majority of the war, and try to talk to me like they know what I went through, like they know what it is like to fight for your life, for the lives of your friends and family, when they were all cozied up in their homes when the real fighting was going on.”   
  
“Cheers to that,” Draco said, raising his coffee cup to Harry, who chinked his cup against it. They both took a sip with a shared wry grin.   
  
“You don't have to defend yourself to us, Harry,” Narcissa told him, wiping her mouth delicately with her cloth napkin. “We know full well what you went through during the war efforts, and do not believe that anyone can have the same experiences as you had, just as you did not have the same experiences as us.”   
  
Harry smiled weakly at Narcissa. “I’m sorry, I’m so used to being put on the defensive with people. It's nice, in a rather odd way, to be around people who understand me. I need to remember that. Sorry.”   
  
“No matter,” Draco said, sliding his chair back form the table and rising to his full height. “Shall we be off? The banquet seems to be dwindling down, and it would be a good time for us to take our leave.”   
  
—   
  
Harry didn’t get the chance to talk to Hermione after the ball. Ron had stormed off angrily at the end of dessert, and Hermione had trailed behind him with an apologetic glance back at Harry. She raised a hand to her ear to signal that she would call him later and he nodded and waved at her as she left the banquet hall.   
  
The ride back to Grimmauld Place in the town car was one of companionable silence, and Harry relaxed with the Malfoys. He felt the tension in his shoulders wane and he was so unbelievably happy to be out of the public eye. That had to be the most people he had been around since the ridiculous awards ceremony the Ministry insisted that he attend months after the war, and at that time, Harry had felt like his hackles were raised the entire event. He left the moment that he was able to to just get away from it all.   
  
“Well, we all managed to survive our first foray into public once again,” Draco said, elbow on his knee in thought. “How do you think we did? Will the Daily Prophet be spewing nonsense about how we must have cast the Imperius Charm on Harry or drugged him, Mother?”   
  
Harry sputtered, but Narcissa, sitting next to him in the bench seat, laughed at the question. “Oh no, dear, I’m sure that it will be much worse than that. Perhaps they will suggest we kidnapped one of his dearest friends or family? But of course, they won’t have a name for their readers, and will conveniently leave out that all of Harry’s loved ones were already there attending the banquet as well.”   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “I honestly don't even bother with the Prophet anymore. No matter what Minister Kingsley says or threatens them with, those editors will let any old drivel go to print. It may seem silly, but I still rely on the Quibbler for most of my news. You just have to learn to read between the rambling about shrivel figs and whatever the newest oddity is that Mr. Lovegood comes up with that month. Anything more immediate, and Hermione calls or Owls me to let me know what's happening.”   
  
Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry. “The Quibbler? Really? Well, it  __ is true that the crazy old man printed that article about you in our Fifth year at Hogwarts... He has been known to print real articles alongside the clap trap nonsense.”   
  
“I can't decide if Mr. Lovegood actually believes everything he says and prints, or if it’s one great big farce on his part, you know, to see how far people will go or believe what he is telling them?” Harry said, grinning. “Because I just simply can't believe that one person could contain that many conspiracy theories or believe in that many make-believe magical plants and creatures.”   
  
“That is exactly it!” Draco pointed a finger at Harry. “That is just way too much crazy for one person. We know that he is the only writer in the Quibbler, besides his ‘fan mail’ writers who talk about all the weird things they've seen or had done to them by creatures that don't exist.”   
  
“I wonder if he goes into the science fiction sections of libraries to scope out new stories?” Harry asked. “You know, things that Muggles used to believe in the Middle Ages or something. I know a lot of it is based on the wizarding world, but not all of it is. They had some wild imaginations back then to explain the stuff that was just magical that they didn't know about.”   
  
“I could definitely see that, coming from Lovegood,” Draco said, a smirk on his face.   
  
“Boys, as much as I hate to cut in, we have arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place,” Narcissa interrupted. They both jerked up; they had leaned toward each other in the town car during their banter, and hadn't noticed that the motion of the car had come to an end.   
  
“O—oh. Okay.” Harry unbuckled his seat belt, unsure of what to say or do. “I guess I’ll head in then. Thank you for the lovely evening, Narcissa, Draco. I honestly don’t think I could have done this without you two to support me.”    
  
“Of course, Harry. We very much enjoyed our evening,” Narcissa said. “Have a good night, dear, and rest up for your work with Master Breckinridge tomorrow.”   
  
Harry grinned. “Will do. Have a good night!”   
  
Harry waved as the town car carrying the Malfoys off trundled down the road and back into the city’s traffic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm busily finishing the zine I'm working on right now, and have a couple of gift exchange deadlines coming up, and so I will write and post the next chapter as soon as I can, but it likely won't be for another 2-3 weeks.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Mari for going over this chapter for me!! You're the best!

_1 September 1999_  
  
_Harry Potter, how dare you show your face at the Orphans of War banquet with the Malfoys, of all people! What they did during the war was absolutely reprehensible, and I do not care one whit if they were stuck with You-Know-Who living under their roof, they could have done something to undermine or even_ kill _him during that time._  
  
_I am so glad we broke up, because I would have had to break up with you after that horrid display. Owl me when your sanity has returned._  
  
_Ginny_  
  
—  
  
Harry crumpled up the letter in his fist, eyes burning red. How dare Ginny lecture him? He was just glad that she had not sent him a Howler, because he would have burned the letter before it even had the chance to start screaming at him. As it was, that idea appealed to him greatly, and he cast a quick flame charm and set the corner of the parchment on fire, holding it as he watched it burn until it neared its end, and he set it on his tea saucer before it could burn the tips of his fingers. That finished, he settled back in to his office chair comfortably, satisfied with the results.  
  
Harry thought back to the time after the war, when he and Ginny had tried and failed to make their relationship work. There was nothing special about it, just that they had realized that they stymied each other. Harry did not want to fight or do great deeds anymore, while Ginny was getting scouted for the Holyhead Harpies. Even the thought of going to a Quidditch match made Harry shudder, and he remembered a time when he had once pictured himself becoming a professional Quidditch player. Not anymore, not with the creeping fear that crawled over his shoulder and whispered all of his worries and doubts in his ear.  
  
Ginny had never understood it, hated that Harry stayed in 12 Grimmauld Place so much and refused to go out of the house unless it was for necessities like food and clothes. Even then, he would only grab what he needed and then Apparate straight back to his home. Ginny was a social butterfly and wanted to be surrounded by others like her. It only took the war ending for her to realize that Harry just wasn't that kind of person, nor would he ever be, no matter how hard she tried to force him to get out of the house.  
  
Harry was glad, now, that that was the case. Ginny was too hypercritical of everyone they met, and it had begun to cloud Harry’s vision of the world even further. His defense of Draco during his trial had been the end of it, because he wasn't willing to be the one to pull the trigger and break up with Ginny. They bickered over it, until the bickering became a fight and the fight became a screaming match, and if Harry hadn't been very good at Shield Charms, he may have ended up with more scars than before.  
  
Harry shook his head to snap out of his reverie. He decided to ignore Ginny’s letter and got back to work. Fletcher had told him that the reading had, for now, nearly come to an end, and he would soon be able to work in the Muggle workshop, learning how to use every last item until he had become an expert on them all. Then he could be able to move on to learning the intricate spell work that created all the sorts of oddities and pieces that Harry saw being built every day in the ground floor workshops.  
  
He sighed wistfully, wishing that he could just move on already with his studies. There was so much more to Charms work, and even just wood crafting, than he had ever imagined, and it was certainly an eye-opening experience for him.  
  
“Doing alright there, Harry?” Fletcher asked from his seat at the grand oak desk in the centre of the room. He had taken to sitting at the desk more and more often of late, and Harry did not particularly enjoy having someone behind him, but he dealt with it as best he could. He still twitched whenever he heard a noise - Fletcher shifting at his desk, opening the door unexpectedly, flipping pages in a book... but Harry did not want to be a bother and avoided telling Fletcher, for fear that his Master would tell him to just put up with it because it was not a big deal.  
  
And it wasn’t. Really, truly, Harry knew deep down that it was not a problem. To most people. But Harry wasn't most people. He never would be like most people, and there was nothing that he could ever do to change that. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” Harry said, not looking up from the book on his desk. He had switched over from books on Charms to books on the sorts of tools and equipment he would be using in the coming months in the Muggle workshop. Fletcher wanted him to prove his knowledge of all the items in the shop and their uses before he could touch them. It was tedious, mind-numbing work, and he found himself drifting off on top of his book.

—

_He couldn’t see through the fog. There was no sight, no sound, even the beating of his own heart. He was trapped, drowning, drowning, he couldn’t get out. He stumbled, heart pounding a steady rhythm he could feel in his bones, but no matter how far he went, there was nothing but emptiness all around him._

Harry screamed into the void, and woke up.

—

Harry jerked awake, heart beating rapidly against his chest like it was trying to break out. He sat up slowly, recalibrating himself to where he was. He wasn’t trapped behind the Veil. He was sitting on a sturdy chair in the corner of Fletcher’s office. There was a book in front of his face - a book about carpenter’s tools. A book that had a very distinctive patch of drool pooled in the middle of one of its pages.

Harry swore under his breath and grabbed his wand from the holster under his sleeve. It took him a moment, his head still fuzzy from the nightmare, but he finally remembered the correct charm, twisting his wrist in the air above the book and murmuring the incantation as quietly as he could. He’d hoped that Fletcher hadn’t noticed his little nap, but then of course Harry honestly had no idea when he had fallen asleep, or how long he’d been out for.

He glanced behind him to Fletcher’s desk to find that the other man was no longer there. Harry groaned, rubbing feeling back into his face.

“Oh, you’re awake. Good.” Fletcher sauntered back into the office carrying two tea cups by their saucers. He handed one off to Harry, who sat back in his chair, bewildered.

Fletcher chortled, smiling in a way that told anyone who saw him that he knew he was handsome. It reminded Harry so strongly of Gilderoy Lockhart that he almost snorted, but managed to catch himself in time.

 _Maybe Lockhart took lessons from Fletcher_ , Harry thought.

“You’ve been restless, Harry,” Fletcher said, settling his lanky frame on the edge of Harry’s desk. He took a sip of tea and continued. “I was starting to wonder whether I should Conjure up a blanket for you and let you rest, since you so clearly needed it. Is everything alright? I couldn’t help but notice your reaction to that letter you received this morning.”

Fletcher’s voice was laced with concern, and Harry sipped at his tea to stall.

“I haven’t been sleeping all that well, to be honest,” he finally admitted. “The Orphans of War fundraiser was last night, and I haven’t been in a crowd of people that size since the war. I don’t… do well, with crowds. Not anymore.”

Harry looked away from Fletcher, not wanting to see pity on the older man’s face. He saw the hand as it reached out into his personal space; Fletcher moved slowly, purposefully putting his hand in Harry’s line of sight so that if he didn’t want it, he could move away. When Harry didn’t move, Fletcher set his hand carefully on his shoulder, patting him reassuringly.

“Completely understandable, Harry,” Fletcher said. “After what you’ve been through, it’s incredible that you are able to do as much as you have, that you’ve come this far. Let’s take a break from the books, shall we? You’re too tired today, and it’s nearly the end of the work day anyway. Let’s start back up again tomorrow - in the workshop, perhaps?”

Harry perked up at that. “You want me to start in the workshop tomorrow? Really?” He stood up in his excitement, nearly toppling over his chair in his haste.

Fletcher laughed again, standing with Harry. “Yes, yes, of course! I think that it’s about time - let’s see what you can do with our Muggle tools and go from there. A lot of what you’ll do will build off of the skills you learn in the workshop, so it’s an important foundation for everything that comes later.”

He stood beside Harry, his hand shifting over to Harry’s other shoulder to lead him over to the big windows that took up one side of his office, overlooking the Muggle workshop. Fletcher gestured down to the workshop’s various stations. 

“We’ll begin simple tomorrow, with skills you probably already have from remodeling your home,” the Charms Master said, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “Once I’m confident that you won’t cut off your hand or worse, you will be able to work on a small project - a little table or stool, for example - from a plan. You will need to follow the dimensions exactly, measuring, cutting, and so on.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Harry said, looking up at Fletcher. He was very close, to the point that Harry could see the crow’s feet around the older man’s eyes. 

Fletcher grinned down at Harry. “You say that now, but just wait until you get started. I’ll have you making whatever you pick again and again until you have it down to perfection.” He rubbed his hand along Harry’s arm reassuringly, squeezing once more before letting go. Harry stepped away immediately to put a little space between them.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Fletcher,” Harry said, heading over to his desk in the corner to grab up his things to take home. He cast a cleaning charm on the teacups, washing them for the next day.

Fletcher stared after Harry as he walked out the door.

—

Harry Apparated to his front door the moment he was in a safe spot away from the workshop to do so. The hair on the back of his neck was raised and he felt a creeping chill come over him, but why?

He shook his head, trying to physically shake whatever seemed to be affecting him, and unlocked his front door.

 _It was probably nothing,_ Harry thought to himself. He toed off his trainers in the entryway and closed the door solidly behind him, relief washing over him at the click of the lock. He was getting better about going out, but after the banquet Harry felt like he was all socialized-out. He just needed the calm quiet of his home and a strong cup of tea to unwind.

Harry shuffled into the kitchen and put the kettle on, rolling his shoulders back and forth to release some of the tension that had built up over the past two days.

The door to the kitchen slammed open right as he was about to take a sip of tea, and the cup shattered on the ground. Harry’s wand was out of its holster in a flash, the strongest Shield charm he could cast surrounding him in a bubble.

Ron stormed in, his face splotchy with fury.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Harry Potter?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: PTSD and anxiety at the beginning of the chapter. Thank you so much to Mari for looking this chapter over for me!!

“Wh-what?” Harry stuttered. His mind was still racing, trying to catch up with what was going on. This was Ron, it wasn’t a Death Eater or someone trying to get revenge after the war was said and done. Ron. _Ron_. They were standing in Harry’s kitchen. It wasn’t the war. There was a tea cup on the ground by Harry’s feet, shattered to bits. Hot tea had splattered Harry’s slacks, so he must have dropped it. Why?

Breathe, in and out. In and out. Okay. He was okay. He could fix the cup. It was an easy enough spell. He just couldn’t remember the words he was supposed to use. _What were they, again?_

Harry looked back up, and there was Ron again, Ron with a flush of anger coating his cheeks and a look in his eyes that would kill had he been a basilisk. _Why was he angry?_

“Ron? Why are you here? What’s wrong?” Harry asked. Ron’s body was distorted in Harry’s vision. _Oh. Shield Charm._ Harry disarmed the spell and resheathed his wand in its holster. His hands were shaking and it took a few tries to get it clipped in place.

“I _said_ , what the hell is wrong with you, mate?” Ron repeated himself. His brow furrowed as he looked Harry over, noted the shaking hands and how pale Harry was. “How could you show up with the _Malfoys_ to the Orphans of War banquet? Of all the people you could have gone with? Why not me and Mione?”

Harry’s mind was trying to catch up. His eyes flickered back and forth from Ron’s face to the tea cup on the ground.

“Banquet?” Harry muttered to himself. _Oh right. Last night. Orphans of War, Ochoa and all the questions. Ginny’s letter._ He centred himself, took another breath in and out. Everything clicked. “Right, the banquet.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, only to find that he was sweating. He grimaced at himself and grabbed the tea towel from where it hung on the side of the cabinets. “Well, Narcissa and I have been talking since the beginning of the summer, I’m sure Hermione’s told you that much.”

Ron nodded.

“We’ve become sort-of friends, and none of us have been out much in public for a long while, so...it sort of just worked out for all of us. We had others there with us who understood.”

Ron made a sound of protest, stepping forward as if to cut Harry off, but Harry shook his head in response.

“You know what I mean. You and Hermione and Ginny, you were able to go back to the normal routine almost immediately, or it didn’t take long for you. For me, it just takes so much out of me to leave this house. I feel like I’m building up all these walls around my mind to protect myself every time I step outside my front door. Even if it’s just to get together with a group of friends. Narcissa and Draco feel the same way, but for different reasons. They understand what it takes for me to do something as simple as going out in public.” Bitterness laced Harry’s voice. “It shouldn’t be so hard to go out. It _shouldn’t_.”

“You know we’re always here for you, right, Harry?” Ron said quietly. He’d moved closer to the dining room table, resting one hand on the wood grain surface.

Harry took a breath. He wasn’t shaking anymore. He was okay.

“I know that, Ron. It’s just that sometimes I need to be around people who understand more than in the sense of ‘I’m here for you.’ Does that make sense?”

Ron scratched at the bridge of his nose. “Sort of. I guess.”

“What matters is, they’re helping. At least Narcissa is,” Harry added, smiling weakly at Ron, who returned the smile. “Last night was the first time I’d really hung out with Draco since… well, ever, I suppose. He seems to have calmed down since we knew him in school. He had to grow up faster than the rest of us, living under Voldemort’s shadow.”

“D’you want to talk about it? Or anything, really?” Ron asked. “Mione said you’re doing a Charms apprenticeship, but that started ages ago now.”

“Sure,” Harry said. “Do you want some tea?”

“Oh shite, that’s right. Your cup. I can buy you a new--” Ron started to say.

Harry looked back down at the cup. _Right_. _That was the spell._ He pulled out his wand and waved it over the broken shards, murmuring the words to piece it back together bit by bit. They swirled at his feet, rising up in the air until a whole tea cup hovered to rest in his hand. There were no tiny cracks to show for its mishap with the floor, and Harry set the cup in the sink to be washed.

Harry twirled his wand once more over the area where the tea had fallen, calling the liquid up from where it had soaked the floorboards and his trousers. The liquid followed the tip of his wand to the sink and splashed down the drain when Harry released the spell with a sigh.

Ron raised one eyebrow. “You’ve improved, I see.”

Harry grinned sheepishly, sheathing his wand once he’d finished cleaning up.

“Yeah, just a bit, I suppose,” he said. He refilled the kettle - the Muggle way, from the tap - and set it going on the stove top. He pulled out two new mugs and busied himself for a few moments preparing their tea, chatting about how Ron’s Auror training was going.

It made Harry sad to realize that while he and Hermione had gotten closer over the past year, he and Ron had begun to drift apart. It was time for that to change.

“Did Ginny tell you she wrote me the closest thing to what you could could call a Howler, minus the Howler?” Harry asked. Their tea and biscuits had been consumed, and they sat back in their chairs, lounging.

Ron sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. “No, she didn’t. We haven’t talked since last night, though. Whatever happened with you two, mate?”

Harry sighed, running his finger along the lip of his tea cup. “We just drifted apart after the war, Ron. We didn’t make each other happy. And as much as I would love to be able to call you my brother for real-” Harry glanced up at Ron, smiling. “-it wouldn’t have been right, for either of us. We just didn’t click, in the end.”

Ron nodded his head. “Yeah, you’re right about that one. Ginny is a hard one to place, I think. She’ll right herself out in the end, don’t you worry about her. Do you want me to talk to her? About the letter?”

Harry shook his head and stood up from the table to clear away the dishes. “No, it’s alright, Ron. I just need to give her time to calm down. It’s not like we talk much anymore, as it is.”

“Alright,” Ron said. He scraped back his chair, standing with a groan. “Well, I’d best be off. I need to get to bed early tonight; they have us running early-morning raid drills tomorrow and I’m going to be dead on my feet as it is.”

Harry dried off his hands on a fresh tea towel and hugged Ron, slapping him once on the back before he released his oldest friend.

“Right. I’ll see you, then. Maybe we should start getting together more often, yeah? I’d be happy to have you and Hermione over now my renovations are mainly finished.”

Ron grinned, the smile lighting up his eyes. “Yeah, we’d like that. I’ll talk to Mione about it and she’ll give you a call on the fellytone.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You mean telephone, Ron.”

“Right. That one. Isn’t that what I said?” Ron asked.

“No, but that’s fine. I’ll talk to you guys later.”

Ron left and Harry reset the wards to let him know if anyone else dropped by unexpectedly. He sighed, dropping his weight heavily onto the armchair in his study and resting one hand on his flushed cheeks.

—

**_Harry Potter and the Dreaded Malfoys: Sources close to Potter tell all in this exclusive scoop!_ **

 

_The Daily Prophet is shocked to inform its readers that one Harry James Potter was seen yesterday evening attending the Orphans of War banquet hosted by the Ministry of Magic. But that isn’t the shocking bit - what is shocking is with whom he attended! As seen in the photograph, Mr. Potter attended his first public event in over a year with none other than Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, the famed Pureblood family-turned-Death-Eaters._

_Now, this reporter can only speculate based on the first-hand accounts received from others who attended the banquet themselves, but the trio seemed to be very close with one another. There were few willing to talk to Mr. Potter during the banquet due to the Malfoy’s presence, though one Mr. Reese Ochoa seems to have confronted the three at their table. (For those who do not remember, Mr. Ochoa was one of the staunchest supporters of putting the Malfoys away in Azkaban for their war crimes.) Sources say that they overheard not only the Malfoys, but Harry Potter_ himself _threaten Mr. Ochoa for bravely confronting them at the banquet._

_Mr. Potter himself could not be reached for comment, but sources close to him say that he has recently befriended the Malfoys and that he has been acting oddly ever since the beginning of summer, when he started a Charms apprenticeship under the tutelage of Master Fletcher Breckinridge III, who runs a highly successful Charms workshop for custom furniture, and has been commissioned for work by the Queen of England._

_This reporter can only speculate about what may be going through Mr. Potter’s mind at this very moment, but one can only question the war hero’s sanity. Mr. Potter had once been rumoured to be the next Head of the Auror Department as he rose through the ranks, but once the war with You-Know-Who was over, he did not even consider returning to complete his schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and then refused the offer to the Auror programme that most applicants would have died to get their hands on._

_Just what could Harry Potter possibly be thinking?_

—

Harry rolled his eyes at the newspaper clipping that Hermione had Owled to him the moment she’d finished reading it. Of course most of it was absolute tosh, and there was a reason that he had stopped reading the Daily Scum in the past year. They never bothered to fact-check, didn’t care what story they were telling or if it were true or absolute rubbish. So long as it sold papers, that was all that mattered to them.

He crumpled the clipping up and Banished it rather than just simply tossing it into the bin. He rubbed at his temples and looked down at the parchment in front of him on the desk, waiting to be written on. He didn’t know how to even start this letter, wasn’t sure just how to start a conversation with his schoolboy nemesis.

—

_1 September 1999_

_Dear Draco,_

_Sorry if this letter is coming a bit out of the blue. I had fun attending the banquet with you and Narcissa last night, and really enjoyed talking to you. I don’t know if you would be interested, but just in case you are, I was wondering if you would like to stop by my home for tea sometime in the next week at your earliest convenience. Only if you want to, of course. I’m not sure if tea at mine would interest you at all._

_Anyway, let me know. I look forward to your letter._

_Harry_

—

Harry didn’t let himself second-guess the invitation. It was time he started inviting people into his life again. That much was obvious from his realization with Ron earlier that evening, and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by, as much as it pained him to write that cringe-worthy letter. He didn’t know how else to invite Draco, though, and figured that honesty was the best way to do it. Even if he managed to sound like a stammering idiot on paper.

Not an hour later, Harry’s owl returned carrying a letter. He was in his sitting room curled up in his armchair reading a book on simple table design and how to make something simple more eye-catching when the owl soared in through the open window and plopped the letter on top of the open book in Harry’s lap and settled himself on the armrest.

Harry petted the owl absentmindedly, opening the letter with his thumb and spreading it out against his book.

—

_1 September 1999_

_Harry,_

_I was pleasantly surprised to read your letter. We are so accustomed to seeing your owl at the Manor that Mother and I didn’t even question its presence, so when it brought the letter to me instead of Mother we thought that perhaps there was something wrong with the creature until we saw my name scrawled on the front of the letter._

_I would be delighted to pop over for tea one day this week; as I am sure that neither of us are busy at this point, though you have your Charms apprenticeship now, what say you to Sunday afternoon? That will give a couple of days to prepare and you won’t be working on your apprenticeship at that time._

_Let me know if that would be amenable to you, and I will come to call._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to spoil anything for the chapter, so I'm adding this to the end notes. As an important reminder, no two people have the same experiences with anxiety and/or PTSD, and I write Harry's PTSD based on my own personal experience with anxiety attacks. Sometimes it takes only a moment to center myself and remind myself where I am, other times it can take a lot more to snap myself out of it. Just wanted to let you know!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for tea - and Draco is nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to the wonderful Mari for editing this chapter for me!
> 
> It's time for another change in perspective. ;)

The workshop was scattered with Harry’s attempts at a simple wooden table. Key word being “attempts.” Fletcher told him that he was improving, but Harry’s barely-avoided-being-severed thumb would disagree. Harry winced and rubbed the pad of his thumb with his pointer finger, the ghost memory of the saw nearly slicing it off still fresh in his mind. He shuddered at the thought.

Harry shrunk the wobbly, misshapen tables down to fit in his pocket. His assignment for the weekend was to go over where each table had gone wrong and what he needed to do to correct his mistakes. It was a long, tedious process that would eat up most of Harry’s weekend, but at least he had Sunday tea to look forward to.

Harry felt an odd tug when he thought about Draco coming over to Grimmauld Place for tea, a kind of mixture of excitement and nerves that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Over the course of several Owls, they had settled on the time, and Draco’s dry sense of humour shone through the words written on the parchment in Harry’s hands. He smiled to himself and bid Fletcher a good weekend as he scurried out the door, leaving the older man questioning the smile on his face.

—

Draco tossed another shirt to the floor, cursing his nerves and his wardrobe. It shouldn’t be this difficult for him to pick out something to wear to Harry’s for tea; it was a simple enough outing, under normal circumstances. But there was _nothing_ normal about tea at Grimmauld Place with Harry Potter, the bane of Draco’s time at Hogwarts, the boy who had hated him from the moment they had met when they were eleven, the boy who cast a curse on Draco without knowing what it did, the man who had saved his life and his soul, as well as countless others… the man Draco realized in year five that he was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with, and probably always would be.

Draco stood inside his walk-in closet, contemplating his fate and finding fault in every article of clothing he owned. He pinched his brow in frustration and glanced around, finally settling on a nice light blue button-up that had flashes of silver thread in the weave of the fabric. His hands trembled as he did up the buttons, and Draco took a steadying breath.

He knew that he was getting worked up other nothing, that it would just be a normal tea, nothing special at all about the day. It wasn’t a date, no matter how very much every fibre in Draco’s being wished that it were. Baby steps. Harry had befriended Mother, after all, and that was no small feat in itself. She had very good taste in friends.

All he could hope for, at least for the present, was for friendship. Draco could deal with his feelings later.

—

Draco could _not_ , in fact, deal with his feelings later, because the moment he Apparated to the front stoop of 12 Grimmauld Place and knocked, the door swung open to reveal a thoroughly disheveled-looking Harry Potter. His scraggly hair was longer than it had been in their years at Hogwarts, and Harry had tied it back in a loose horsetail at the nape of his neck. Several tendrils had escaped the elastic and curled around to brush at his flushed skin. Harry’s glasses perched precariously on the top of his head and all Draco could think about was what it would feel like to pull the elastic out of the other man’s hair and run his fingers through the loose strands. He wondered if Harry would let him scratch his nails against his scalp, tug on his hair. He wondered if Harry would gasp… Draco mentally shook himself. _Not appropriate thoughts to have before tea_ , Draco thought to himself, a blush blooming on his cheeks at the turn his mind had taken.

“Hello, Draco,” Harry said. “Sorry, I’ve been working on some tricky work for my Charms apprenticeship and it seems that the time got away from me.”

The small smile on Draco’s lips froze. “If you need to reschedule tea, I can come back another time,” he said, though it pained him to do so.

“Oh no, no,” Harry protested, opening the door the rest of the way and waving Draco in. “Tea is just the distraction I need right about now. Come on in, and let me just pop upstairs to change.”

Draco followed Harry in to his home, allowing himself the small indulgence of staring after the other man’s jean clad ass as they walked down the hallway. He looked back up just in time, as Harry showed him to the library on the ground floor and waved Draco to a sturdy-looking armchair by the unlit fire. Satisfied that Draco was settled, Harry bustled off to put the kettle on and change out of his dirty clothes.

The moment Harry closed the door, Draco stood gracefully from the dark blue armchair to look around the room. The library itself was impressive in size, and although Draco knew that Harry had inherited the vast majority of the volumes from Draco’s own Black family ancestors, they all looked as if they had been cleared of dust and grime. What few knick knacks that remained rounded off the room nicely.

The armchair Draco had been ushered to flanked a matching couch, a small coffee table within easy reach of the both of them. A small stack of books sat upon the table, and one leather-bound volume had been left open on the table, an empty cup of tea at its side as if it had been there for quite some time.

Draco lifted the text off of the table, curious to see what the other man read in his spare time. He was surprised by how light it was and almost dropped it. The book was significantly lighter than the sheer size of it would indicate. Keeping one finger on the open page, Draco flipped through the book to look at the title page: _Advanced Charms and Their Use in Carpentry and Woodcraft_. Draco glanced down at the stack of books still on the table, and they carried much the same theme.

 _Interesting_ , Draco thought. He was about to open the book back up to the page Harry had left off reading when the door swung open and Harry himself re-entered the room bearing a tray laden with teapot, cups, scones, strawberry jam, and everything needed for a proper tea… for a party of ten or more. There were more trays floating in formation behind him. Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry.

“Expecting all of Gryffindor House to show up, are we?” Draco asked jokingly. Harry flushed and looked down at the tray of food in his arms as well as the other two trays as they floated obediently behind him, waiting for his directions.

“I haven’t had a lot of experience hosting anyone,” Harry admitted, setting the tray in his arms down on the coffee table and clearing away the books and dirty tea cup. He pointed to the empty space that remained, and the other trays settled down like two cats getting comfortable on a sun-dappled chair.

That done, Harry continued, “Any time the Dursleys had someone over for tea, I was either in charge of preparing all the food and such in the kitchen, or they locked me in my cupboard and told me to stay quiet - not fit to be seen by the guests.”

“Sorry, the Dursleys? Your cupboard?” Draco’s brow knit in confusion, his mind racing. Had he ever heard about Harry’s home life while at Hogwarts? He couldn’t remember. He just knew what his father and Aunt Bella had told him, that Harry Potter lived in the lap of luxury and had been given anything and everything he wanted in his life. They told Draco that Harry had been Dumbledore’s little teacher’s pet - and didn’t that thought sting just a bit?

Harry scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable. “I forget that I didn’t really talk to you about it. My friends at school all knew how bad it was. Ron and the twins even broke me out second year…” Harry’s expression soured at the memory, heart hurting at the loss of Fred, felt fresh once more.

Draco didn’t know what to say, and they sat in silence for a moment. Harry seemed to shake himself of the melancholy he was feeling. He flashed Draco a timid smile that set his heart racing. Harry lifted the teapot from its tray.

“How do you like your tea?” Harry asked.

Draco gave Harry a small, careful smile in return. They chatted over tea, and Draco learnt more about Harry in those long hours in the other man’s library than he ever had in all their years together in school. Draco tried to share equally, telling Harry about his childhood, his first attempts at flying and nearly falling from his broom in the process. They kept to lighter topics, but it was hard for both of them, when so many of their memories were laced with a sort of bittersweet sadness on top of the happy times.

Draco was just telling Harry about a mishap Pansy had had with a glamour charm gone awry. He was leaning forward in the armchair, his face alive with mirth at the memory of Pansy’s face when she discovered that her hair, normally a brown so dark it was almost black, had turned an eye-smarting shade of glittering pink. Harry leaned back on the sofa, chortling at the picture Draco painted. He wiped his eyes of the laugh-tears that had formed.

“Whatever happened to you and Pansy, anyway?” Harry asked suddenly.

Draco’s hand on his teacup jerked, spilling some of the tepid liquid on the coffee table. He cursed and grabbed a dish towel from the side of the table, but before he could begin to wipe up the spill, Harry had swirled his wand over the whole mess and cast a cleaning charm.

“Thanks,” Draco said. “What do you mean, ‘whatever happened to me and Pansy’?”

“I mean...we all swore up and down that the two of you were a couple,” Harry said, hesitating now that he got the impression that their assumptions had been off-base.

Draco closed his eyes and took a breath. When he opened them, he leveled his gaze at Harry. Draco smiled wryly, saying, “No, Harry, Pansy and I were never a couple. She is the complete opposite of my type.”

Harry tilted his head. He seemed to be thinking back to all the people he’d ever seen Draco interact with in school, and the image made Draco snort. God, but Harry was dense about some things. That was one of the reasons Draco loved him so much.

“Was there anyone else you went around with? Besides Crabbe, Goyle, and that Zabini fellow, no one sticks out.”

Draco’s mouth twisted, thinking. All of his friends knew that he was gay - Pansy had learnt after a disastrous attempt on her part to kiss him at the Yule Ball their fourth year - but it wasn’t terribly widely-known outside of his closest friends. Slytherins kept information to themselves. It didn’t matter if it was a secret or not; they all had a rule to respect a person’s right to privacy.

His eyes flicked down to his hands, then up to Harry, who looked at him expectantly. Draco steeled himself. It was now or never, and the conversation had just flowed so naturally to a head. It felt right to him, to tell Harry. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and took a breath, squaring off with Harry, his tea cup held tightly with both hands - the only outward expression of the nerves he felt.

“Pansy and I never dated because as much as she is my best friend and I love her like a sister, I am decidedly too gay, and she is far too female for my tastes.”

Draco watched Harry’s expression as it ran the gamut of emotions. He started preparing himself for a negative response and was ready to dash out of the house if absolutely necessary, but he wasn’t prepared for Harry’s reaction.

“Huh...that makes sense to me, I suppose.” He smiled at Draco and took a bite of his scone. “You’re a tough nut to crack, Draco. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Draco let out the shuddering breath he had been holding and poured himself a fresh cup of tea with shaky hands. “Not the reaction I was expecting, to be honest.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco. “What, did you think I was going to run away screaming? I grew up in such an intolerant house that I learnt that I never wanted to be like that.”

Draco left Harry’s home that afternoon feeling much the lighter for it.

Little did he know, as he waved at Harry from the front stoop before Disapparating, that he had left behind a man whose mind was reeling with this new knowledge.  



	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry isn't sure what to think after Draco's revelation at tea, mangled little tables are less-mangled, and--Fletcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO HASN'T FORGOTTEN THIS STORY? Yes it is me. I wrote this chapter this past week and finally finished it just now and couldn't wait to post it for you all. I fell asleep mid-writing last night and will share the hilarious fruits of that adventure in the ending chapter notes.
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful Mari for their edits on this chapter! <3

_Draco Malfoy is gay_.

That was the thought that was screaming through Harry’s mind after Draco left. When he had revealed that to Harry, it was all he could do to keep himself from snapping the scone he had just picked up.

It all made so much sense to him now. They had never really seen Draco with anyone, but Harry had always just assumed that Draco and Pansy were dating and hadn’t thought much of it beyond that. He was more distracted in school by thinking that Draco was evil to consider that maybe he wasn’t straight.

Harry had kept a watchful eye on Draco during school long enough that all the little moments started to add up. He remembered now seeing Draco and Pansy leaving the Yule Ball together. It was a fuzzy memory, but he remembered how upset she looked, and Draco’s hand reaching out to her… and then there were the smaller things, simple. A glance, a brush of the shoulder.

He remembered one of the rare lazy summer days at the beginning of a school year, where the vast majority of Hogwarts turned out to enjoy the sun before autumn set in. He, Ron, and Hermione had been sitting in the courtyard in the shade, Hermione chatting excitedly about the courses they would be taking that year, when Harry glanced down toward the lake and saw Draco and his crowd lazing not too far away. Draco had seemed distracted, not paying attention to the chatter of Pansy and the others. He seemed to be gazing off into the distance, and when Harry looked over to see what the blond was staring at, he saw a couple of the Seventh-year boys had stripped off their shirts to show off their muscles to anyone who was looking and were play-fighting with the energy that comes from a beautiful day.

Harry had rolled his eyes at the time, but maybe there had been something more to Draco’s intense gaze as he watched those Seventh-years...

Then there was the feeling in his chest when he came across Draco in Moaning Myrtle’s toilet, crying at the sink. Something tugged at Harry then, much as it did now. A sense of longing, confusion. Harry wished that he had helped back then; if he hadn’t been so judgmental, but he was so cocky, so _sure_ of himself and what he believed to be the truth of the situation that he didn’t stop to question why Draco was there. _Why_ he was crying in the girls’ toilet, seeking solace in Moaning Myrtle, of all people. But then the spell, the moment that changed so much, changed Harry’s understanding of the Prince who had been guiding him, Snape unwittingly guiding him along. He just didn’t know anymore, not back then.

But things were different now, maybe not necessarily _better_ , but they were in a position now to understand one another, to find a way toward the friendship that Draco had offered all those years ago, and Harry had summarily rejected with all the superiority of an eleven year old who thinks he’s right about the ways of the world.

Harry scoffed at his past self. What a foolish child he had been.

Harry paced with these thoughts as he cleaned up the tea trays in the library. Draco had been right, Harry had made far too much food for two people. Maybe he could have Hermione over, and bring some scones in to the workshop tomorrow…

He cursed. The little tables. Harry still needed to finish his work for Fletcher. He’d calculated and drawn up the specs for the first table and had been halfway through the second when Draco had arrived for tea. Harry sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands, dislodging his glasses from their perch. He snatched them from midair before they could fall to the floor, thanking the powers that be for his Seeker-quick reflexes, and set them on top of his head.He trudged back to the small workshop he’d carved out of one of the bedrooms - he honestly didn’t need so many bedrooms in his house - where the second of the little tables sat waiting for him.

One of Fletcher’s tests had been, once Harry told him he was going to make a little table, to provide him with a half dozen schematics for little tables, and the Charms Master let Harry pick which one he wanted to make. Harry had thought that the design where the legs fit seamlessly in with the flat surface would be the easiest one to make, but he had missed Fletcher’s hidden smile when he selected that one out of the several options.

Somehow, his tables had managed to not fit together seamlessly as expected. The first one’s legs were all the wrong sizes, that much had been obvious before he’d even finished it, and the woodgrain was far too rough overall. The second one seemed to have gone better than the first, but for some reason wobbled inexplicably. There had to be a reason for it, though, and Harry was determined to figure out just what it was.

He settled in for a long night, little table in front of his chair on the ground,  his pen and notepad floating in the air beside him, waiting for him to snatch them up to jot down his ideas and notes. Harry measured and tested, took the little table apart and then put it back together again, and it always resulted in the slight wobble.

It wasn’t until one in the morning that he finally worked out what was wrong, and he fell asleep slumped over at his desk as he noted his discovery and solutions to the problem. Harry felt proud of himself, content that Fletcher would see it that way too and congratulate him on his hard work.

—

If Harry had been in his room, he would have heard the Charmed alarm go off on his bedside table. As it was, he was two floors down and in a room with only a small window facing north to let in the morning light. He drifted into wakefulness slowly, blearily. His glasses were half-off his face from sleep, and Harry squinted, blinking hard with first one eye and then the other. He righted the glasses on his face and sat up with a groan, his spine snapping in complaint of the position he’d slept in. Harry yawned loudly and scratched at his stomach absentmindedly, looking around his miniature workshop. His eyes lighted on the little wooden table and Harry’s eyes widened as he glanced up at the small window in the corner of the room. He cursed and looked at his watch - it was almost noon. He was supposed to be at Fletcher’s workshop _three hours ago_.

_“Shite!”_

Harry overturned the desk chair in his haste to get up, quickly shrinking the table down to fit it and its partner in his pocket. He didn’t bother to change; his clothing was rumpled, but he was sure that Fletcher wouldn’t mind that quite so much as Harry being an entire half day late getting in to the workshop.

He stopped in the kitchen long enough to grab a slice of bread and toasted it on his way out the door with a clever Charm Hermione had taught him while they were on the run during the war. Harry took a giant bite of the toast, slightly burnt in his hasty casting, and Disapparated from his stoop, concentrating on the alley by Fletcher’s workshop.

—

“Really, Harry, it’s quite alright!” Fletcher told him for the dozenth time that afternoon. “Merlin knows I had some late nights when I was working my own apprenticeship decades ago.”

Harry had arrived at the workshop in a flurry of embarrassed apologies, panting heavily from the dash to arrive as quickly as he could. Fletcher was in the middle of instructing one of the journeymen who worked in the ground floor level of the workshop when he arrived and had taken one look at Harry and told him he would meet him upstairs.

Harry was so sure that Fletcher would start yelling at him the moment that he joined Harry in his office, and when that didn’t happen he was flummoxed, and didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Come, now, Harry, let’s get some food in you and then you can show me what you have, alright?” Fletcher said, guiding Harry with one hand on his lower back to sit at Fletcher’s desk, which was meticulously organized. The Charms Master squeezed Harry’s shoulders with both hands and let go. “You stay here, I’ll have Aubyn run to the deli on the corner for you. Shall I have him order for you?”

Harry nodded dumbly at Fletcher. Now that he wasn’t running on pure adrenaline, his body was beginning to react to the mad dash he’d taken to get to the workshop. It was all Harry could do to keep from throwing up the late-night scone he’d eaten. He set his head against the smooth hardwood of Fletcher’s desk, breathing in the scent of cedar that the man used to line his drawers. It managed to calm his mind and his stomach. Harry didn’t sleep - he’d done plenty of that completely by accident - but it allowed him to center himself again.

Moments passed, and Harry was roused by Fletcher setting down a tray of food from the fancy deli down the street from his workshop. Harry blinked, and it was like how Draco had questioned the amount of food Harry’d prepared the day before for tea because the tray was filled with food.

“I wasn’t quite sure what you would like,” Fletcher said, “So I told Aubyn to get anything that might strike your fancy. I know that you’ve enjoyed their thai spinach coconut soup in the past, and they had that on order today, and then Aubyn thought you might like the roast lamb, spiced hummus, and feta sandwich. I also had him order fizzy water and some of that oolong tea you love so much.”

Harry eyed the food hungrily. He hadn’t realized just how starved he was until that moment - he hadn’t eaten anything besides that scone after tea, and it was already well past lunch time now. Eschewing manners, Harry chowed down as if he hadn’t eaten in a century. He finished the meal in record time, savouring every bite and spoonful.

When he was finished, Fletcher clapped him on the back, grinning down at Harry.

“Well, now that you are fed let’s take a look at those little tables of yours, shall we?” Fletcher asked.

Harry nodded, swallowing the last sip of his darjeeling. He stood as he drank, pulling the two miniaturized tables out of his pocket and setting them on the ground in front of him.

“ _Reformo magnitudines_ ,” Harry said, swirling his wand in a swishing motion. The little tables sprang up to settle on the floor in front of him. Fletcher crossed his arms tight against his chest, humming in approval of the spell. He seemed pleasantly surprised, like he had been expecting Harry to use _finite incantatem_ which would not have ended well for the tables. It was such a small thing, no pun intended, but that indication of approval sent a rush of excitement coursing through Harry.

The pair went over his little tables, assessing where he went wrong, what tools he should have used, his method for cutting the raw materials. It went well into the night, Fletcher excusing himself at one point to work at his desk behind Harry, and when the grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck the hour, both men jerked up from their work.

“Is it really nine o’clock?” Fletcher asked. “That can’t be right, I’m sure that it was only just--” He stopped midsentence, glancing at his watch to find that the time really had passed so quickly.

Harry blinked up at him, as if not seeing him properly.

“Let’s wrap this up for the night, Harry,” Fletcher said, lifting himself from the desk chair to grab his cloak from the peg on the wall. “A tired carpenter ends his day with less fingers than he started with, after all. You can set yourself to making a new little table tomorrow, now that you’ve learned more of the tools you need.”

Harry stretched and stood up himself, yawning quite suddenly. “Ahh, I suppose you’re right, Fletcher. Have a good evening and I will see you first thing in the morning.”

The pair shuffled out of the workshop, hours after all the other employees had headed home for the evening, and Harry waited for Fletcher to lock up the shop before heading to his Apparition point.

Harry waved at Fletcher and twirled on the spot, Disapparating home to his warm bed.

—

Fletcher watched as Harry Disapparated, waving cheerily at the man until he was gone. He dropped the act the moment he was alone, his expression souring. Harry was a fine learner, and would no doubt be a good Charms Master one day. Fletcher’s mind churned with the image of Harry bent over on the floor of his office, going over every fine detail of those tables that looked so hideous, he was ashamed to have had them in his workshop.

He sneered at the thought. There was a reason why he only accepted journeymen into his work space and had never taken on an apprentice of his own. The initial workings of apprentices were so crude and misshapen, no elegance to them at all. It would take _years_ for Harry to bring himself to a level that Fletcher would even deem him worthy of stepping foot on the workshop floor.

The only reason that Fletcher had even accepted Harry was because of the prestige that his presence would bring to his workshop in the Wizarding world. He already had that in the Muggle world from his commissions from the Queen, but to have The Harry Potter under his wing, it was too tempting to even think of saying no. Narcissa Malfoy had thought she was being secretive about her anonymous Charms student, but really how many freshly-graduated 18-year-old wizards who wished to remain anonymous could there _be_ in their world?

Fletcher reentered the workshop through the hidden entrance that none of his employees knew about; he had keyed it specifically to his magical signature, and only he could pass through. He made his way back upstairs, unlocking and relocking the doors and wards as he went, barely sparing a moment’s glance at his surroundings.

Fletcher finally made it back to his office, draping himself in his desk chair with a heavy sigh. He pulled out the rather expensive whiskey he had been saving for a rainy day. It seemed that this was that day. He cracked the seal on the cap. From the desk came a single crystal tumbler and Fletcher poured himself a healthy glass of the strong liquid. He sipped long and hard, finishing the drink in two gulps. He lifted the bottle to pour another one, his hand shaking as he poured. Splatters of amber liquid spotted his desk, and he was grateful for his tidiness in removing all of his schematics from its surface while Harry worked on his hideous tables, not even self-aware enough to realize that his jeans clung so perfectly to his backside. Fletcher had pretended to read the latest issue of Charms Today at his desk while Harry worked, but really he spied on Harry over the edge of the periodical, staring hungrily at the flex of young muscles in a too-tight t-shirt.

Fletcher nursed the second glass, savoring it.

What to do about Harry Potter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to lighten the mood....kids, don't write while sleeping. This is what happens when you do:
> 
>  
> 
> _He went to another one, splatters of amber liquid spotting his desk, which he had thankfully removed all of his Black Panther"_


	13. Chapter 13

Harry wished that he could just collapse in bed the moment that he arrived home. Instead, he took a shower, scrubbing away the grime of the past two days. He was weary to the bone and wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next couple of days. It took every fibre of his being to turn off the shower and tug on a fresh t-shirt and boxers before curling up to sleep on top of the blankets on his bed.

The next morning, Harry woke up with his Charmed alarm, stretching and feeling almost back to his usual self. He shook himself awake and eased himself off of the bed, making a list in his head of things to do that day.

 _It’s Tuesday. Two hours til I need to be at the workshop, so I should clean up the kitchen… Maybe I should invite Hermione and Ron over for tea today._ Harry moved about the house, muttering to himself. It was still early enough, Hermione would be at home yet. He picked up the phone in his entryway and dialed her number.

The phone rang, and rang, and Harry heard the click of the receiver being picked up.

“Hello, Granger-Weasley residence,” Hermione said on the other end.

“Hey Hermione, it’s me,” Harry said lamely.

“Harry, it’s so good to hear from you!” Hermione said. Harry would hear her shuffling about and assumed that she had picked up the phone to move about the house as she got ready for the day. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright. Did Ron tell you about his visit?” Harry held the phone between his shoulder and ear and headed into the kitchen. He’d Charmed the cord to extend as he moved around the house after an embarrassing mishap when he first installed the thing the previous year, so he didn’t have to worry about it snagging on anything and knocking him over.

As he went through the motions of making tea and a simple breakfast, Harry and Hermione set up plans to get together, just the three of them.

“I’m off work at four today, so we can be by around half past if that’s alright with you, Harry?” Hermione asked. “It’s Ron’s off day since they had him running those early morning drills so many days in a row and he’s sleeping in late.”

“That sounds great, Hermione. I’ll see you then,” Harry said.

“Perfect! I’ve got to run now Harry, I’m running behind schedule. See you this afternoon!”

“See you then.”

The other end of the line clicked as Hermione hung up the phone, and Harry smiled at the thought that the three of them would be getting together again. It really had been too long.

He meandered back to the entryway and put the receiver back on the cradle, then set about getting ready to go into the workshop.

—

Fletcher had been particularly hands-on with Harry that day as he taught Harry every step of perfecting his little table design. Any time Harry made a misstep, there was Fletcher snatching the tools out of his hands, showing him how to hold them, the angle and speed with which to use them.

At first, Harry had been appreciative, but as the day waned, it started to wear on Harry’s nerves, especially when Fletcher would come up behind him to grip his hands and show him the “proper” way to work. That weight on his back made him feel almost nauseous, and he tried to shake the feeling because he knew that it was how Fletcher worked, and he was just trying to help Harry learn.

By the time Harry got off at half-past three that afternoon, he was mentally exhausted. He was thankful for the short day and tore off his workshop clothes the moment he got home to shower away the dirty feeling in his mind. A half hour later, wearing fresh clothes, he went down to the kitchen to prepare everything. There wasn’t much to do since he had all of the leftover food from tea with Draco just two days previous. He cast a refreshing Charm on the pastries to renew the pastries’ quality back to when they were freshly baked.

He checked his watch. Only another 15 minutes until when Hermione said they would be over. Harry put the kettle on and brought down three teacups: the one with polka dot cat faces for Hermione, a stripy cup for himself, and the orange Chudley Cannons teacup he bought for when Ron came over. It hadn’t had much use in recent months. Harry frowned at the thought.

The doorbell rang, breaking Harry away from that thought, padding over to the front door. He glanced out the peephole and saw Ron and Hermione standing on the doorstep, holding hands. Harry grinned and stepped back and opened the door wide.

“Hiya Harry!” Ron said, beaming down at him. Hermione let go of Ron’s hand to give Harry a hug.

“It’s so good to see you, Harry,” she said when she let go of him. They made their way inside, Hermione and Ron immediately going for the kitchen. They knew Harry all too well. Harry felt a rush of emotion run through him. It felt so good for it to be just the three of them; it was like he was home again in his mind.

Harry followed after them as Hermione chatted away about her day at the office. The goblins were all settled, and her supervisors had her on a new case. Harry only understood half of what she told them but nodded along as if he understood. Ron gave him a knowing look over Hermione’s head when she wasn’t looking.

It was so easy to fall back into their comfortable banter; it was almost as if they could pretend that the War hadn’t happened, like they were back in school again, without the worries and stress that weighed on them. They could pretend that the horrors they had experienced weren’t there, at least for a couple of hours.

“Did you make all this, Harry?” Hermione asked after she polished off a second scone. “It’s delicious!”

Harry nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smile. There was a crumb on her cheek, and it was too funny an image to tell her.

Ron, apparently, was the better man. “Hermione, you’ve got a little something, right there…” He leaned over and brushed the crumb off Hermione’s cheek, making her blush.

“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione said.

There was an awkward pause, as if something was weighing on the room, before Hermione perked back up.

“So, Harry, tell us about Draco,” she said simply.

Harry, about to take a sip of his tea, choked and sputtered at the query. He wordlessly Conjured a napkin, coughing indelicately until he could breathe again.

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked once his voice was back under control.

Hermione rolled her eyes to look at the ceiling and glanced sideways at Ron, who gripped his teacup, looking almost as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

Harry flushed and twisted the napkin in his hands, fraying the paper edges.

“Draco’s alright,” he said finally. “We have a lot more in common than I thought. It makes me wonder…”

Hermione looked at him quizzically, prompting Harry to continue.

“It makes me wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t rejected him out of term in First Year,” Harry finished. “If I’d shaken his hand the first day, or tried to reach out to him. If I hadn’t been so quick to judge Draco, maybe things would have turned out differently.”

Harry thought back painfully to Sixth Year, to their fight in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Draco’s tears fresh on his cheeks, the screaming, the blood... _so much blood._

Hermione leveled a sympathetic gaze at him.

“You can’t know what might have happened, Harry,” she said, reaching over to rest her hand atop his, making Harry loosen his grip on the torn-apart napkin. “All you can do is work to correct the mistakes of the past.”

Harry gave Hermione a lopsided grin.

“Thanks, ‘Mione.”

“Speaking of…” Ron piped up, “What’re you gonna do about Ginny? She’s beyond pissed at you, Harry.”

Harry’s nose scrunched up in thought. “I dunno, Ron. I feel like anything I say to her at this point will backfire on me. I’m not about to give up my friendship with the Malfoys for her sake, especially since we haven’t been together in so long. I don’t owe her anything.”

Ron looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself, choosing instead to pick up another scone and slather it with cream, stuffing it into his mouth so he couldn't talk anymore.

The conversation shifted, and they spent a relaxed evening in each others’ company, chatting and feeling more at ease together than they had for a very long time.

—

_9 September 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m trying to explore more of the Muggle side of London, in part because I never had to opportunity to see it when I was growing up, and in part, because it is one of the few places where I am not recognised. My father never permitted me to go to West End. Something about Muggles pretending at magic or some other. I know that this is rather short notice, but I find myself with front row tickets to see Phantom of the Opera this coming Saturday evening, and I was wondering if you would care to join me. My treat, and you can pick a restaurant for dinner before the show._

_Draco_

—

Harry found himself fidgeting with his collar, trying to smooth out invisible creases in the fabric. He checked his watch; thirty minutes until the time he and Draco had settled on to meet for dinner. Harry had picked his favorite Italian restaurant that was in walking distance to Her Majesty’s Theatre.

He cursed at his nerves and grabbed his coat from its hook on the wall, throwing it on hurriedly. He paused only a moment on the stoop outside his front door to double check that nothing was out of place and turned on the spot, picturing the alley across the way from the restaurant as he Disapparated.

When he popped out of the alley, having cleaned his oxfords of the muck he’d managed to land in, Harry found that he wasn’t the only one to arrive early to dinner. Draco stood to the side of the restaurant’s entrance, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Harry smiled at the image the blond made and strode over to greet him, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a bicyclist in his haste.

Draco cracked an easy grin. “Trying to get yourself mowed over, Potter? If you wanted to get out of going to the theatre with me, you only had to say the word.”

Harry rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at Draco as if he were Ron or Hermione. He bit his lip to hide a smile. “I would never. C’mon, let’s go in and see if we can get to our table early.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he stuck them in his trouser pockets and headed into the building, Draco at his side. They chatted easily, as if they were old friends, and Harry felt a twinge of _something_ in his chest as they ate and argued amicably about etiquette at the theatre, the conversation flowing from one topic to the next.

In the end, they had to Apparate to the theatre to get to their seats in time. The tickets weren’t for front row centre, but rather the very end of the row, something that Harry was secretly relieved to discover. Having the entire theatre at his back was one thing. Having no easy exit on top of that would have put him on edge the whole evening. He took the end seat, Draco settling into his chair next to Harry.

He leaned over to murmur in Harry’s ear. “I hope this is alright. I can’t stand to be in the middle of a crowd, and these were the best seats I could get without having to stumble over other peoples’ feet.”

The fine hairs at Harry’s nape stood straight up, his skin tingling at the rush of Draco’s breath across his skin. He shifted his body back to look into Draco’s eyes. “I’m the same,” Harry whispered back, conscious of the people around them as the lights dimmed. “I have been ever since the war.”

Harry could just barely make out Draco’s eyes in the sudden darkness, and Draco reached out to rest his hand on Harry’s arm for only a moment, before settling in to enjoy the show.

Harry’s breath caught at the touch, though he didn’t quite know why. He jumped at the crack of a gavel.

_“Sold!”_

The show had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in this chapter, it certainly wasn't my intention. DMM is my main focus for NaNoWriMo this year, and I have the remaining 7 chapters outlined (unless, of course, my muse gets away from me!) so it is my hope and goal to finish writing this story during November. Thank you to all my wonderful readers for sticking with this story through all its delays, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Mari for beta'ing for me! <3 Have a nice, fluffy interlude. ;)

“I’m telling you, the Phantom _had_ to be a wizard!” Draco said as they left the theatre. The pair had waited until the majority of the crowd had left so that they would not be a part of the mass of bodies.

Harry laughed. “You say that, but it’s just a story, written ages ago now. It wasn’t based on real life.”

“That’s actually not true,” Draco said. “Leroux did his research, and while the mysteries of the Phantom have stayed mysteries, there was _some_ basis in factual events. I doubt if the wizarding world has done any kind of research into the Phantom, but there may be some credibility to the idea.”

Harry smiled. The excited way Draco talked lit up in his eyes, and it was like Harry was privy to an entirely different person. It made his chest feel tight, that Draco felt safe and comfortable enough with him that he was willing to show Harry this side of him.

“Be careful, you’re starting to talk like Hermione there,” Harry teased.

Draco clapped a hand to his chest theatrically. “You wound me! I’ll have you know that I am nothing like Granger. I have a much more narrow focus to my interests.”

His dramatics surprised a snort out of Harry.

“And researching the origins of the Phantom of the Opera is one of them?” he asked, sniggering.

“Actually, yes,” Draco said. “I like research, and I’m fascinated by mysteries. It’s one of the projects I’ve been working on while going through the Malfoy family library; yes, I’m getting rid of the Dark tomes, but I’m also trying to piece together the Malfoy family history. The _accurate_ family history, not just the ‘pureblood’ side of things. My ancestors were very similar to the Blacks. They removed anyone who _shamed_ the family—” he spat out the word “—from the family tree, but the history is still there. I just have to look for it.”

Harry slung his arm over Draco’s shoulder as if they’d been friends their whole lives. “Well, I think that’s admirable, and I’d love to see some of your research.”

They’d stopped walking, and Harry realized what he’d done. He jumped back, removing his arm from Draco’s shoulders. He flushed furiously.

“S-sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Harry stuttered out.

Draco looked to the side, a light pink coming to his cheeks. He covered his mouth with one hand, the expression on his face one that Harry had an impossible time to decipher.

Draco coughed and tugged on his ear. “It’s...it’s fine, I’m just not used to friends touching me.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and noticed that they were in the middle of the pavement blocking the flow of traffic. He reached out and grasped Draco’s wrist briefly, tugging him off to the side and out of the way.

“C’mon, over here,” Harry said. He leaned his back against the stonework of the building and Draco followed suit, checking the wall for grime before he leaned against it with one shoulder, facing Harry.

“Sorry, you’ve seen how Hermione and Ron and I are,” Harry said as he watched the crowds walk by without seeing them. “I’ve gotten so comfortable around you, I didn’t think anything of it.”

Draco snorted. “It’s nothing, really. Don’t stop yourself. It’ll just take some getting used to.”

Harry glanced up and realized Draco was staring at him, a quizzical expression on his face. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“What?” he asked.

Draco shook his head and pushed off from the wall. “Nothing. You done in for the night, or do you want to stop by a pub for a pint?”

“I’m not knackered yet. D’you have anyplace in mind?” Harry asked, following Draco around the bend to an alleyway.

“I do, but we’ll need to Apparate there. Do you trust me?” Draco smiled and held out a hand to Harry.

A spark of a memory jolted through the both of them in that moment.

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he said, “Absolutely,” and took Draco’s hand in his.

Draco looked like he was about to say something, his eyes bright and unreadable. He shook himself of it and steadied himself, then whisked them away.

—

The pair ended up at a Muggle pub in a less touristy part of London. It was still loud for a Saturday night, and the sign above the door showed a horse rearing on its back legs. It swung in the breeze as the men made their way inside.

The air inside the pub was warm and the lively crowd inside warmed him even moreso. There were couples, groups of friends, and some lone souls all living their everyday lives. Harry guessed, judging by their happy natures, that they had never been touched by the war. It was good to see true, unaffected joy in the world when so much of his life had been marred by Voldemort and his lot.

“You sit down, I’ll grab our drinks,” Draco said, unwinding his scarf and motioning to a secluded booth in the corner of the room. Harry nodded and wended his way through the tightly-packed bar, settling into the corner bench so that he could watch the crowd. There was some kind of sport on the telly above the bar, but it was too far away for Harry to pick out what it was.

A moment later, Draco plopped two pints on the table in front of Harry and settled in across it from him.

Harry grinned.

“What?” Draco asked defensively.

“You look more like a ‘wine pairings with cheese’ man than a ‘pint at the pub’ man,” Harry said. “I feel like I need to take a photo to remember this by.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know that I can be _both_ , Potter.”

“Oh, _Potter_ is it, now?” Harry said teasingly. “Well, _Malfoy_ , I think it’s rather deceptive of you to be both. Almost...snake-like.”

Harry took a long sip of his ale, not even trying to hide the mirth in his eyes as Draco choked.

“That was so ham-handed of you,” Draco replied. “Typical Gryffindor attitude.”

They bantered back and forth, and one pint became two, two became three, and by the time they stumbled out of the pub, Harry and Draco were hanging onto one another to keep steady.

“There’sss... no way,” Harry slurred, stumbling to one side of the pavement and precariously close to a dustbin, “No way we can Appapara—apparte....hmm, teleport home like this.”

Draco snorted at Harry’s inability to say ‘Apparate.’

“Y’right,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulder. Draco, it seemed to Harry, was a very touchy-feely drunk. Not that he was about to complain. Harry felt a warmth billowing from his stomach, a sense that there was something just out of his grasp if only he could work out what it was...

The feeling grew and morphed as it raced up into his chest, rising like bile. He turned and ducked out from under Draco’s arm to throw up in the gutter. Harry wiped his mouth on his sleeve, aware enough of himself that he knew better than to try to cast a cleaning Charm on himself.

“Okay, buddy,” Draco said, offering Harry a hand up. “I think we need to call the Knight Bus.”

Harry nodded. “Good idea.”

Draco pulled out his wand and raised it, a little shakily, into the air, tip flaring white. Moments later, the Knight Bus appeared on the cobbled street next to them.

Stan Shunpike hopped out, ready to give his usual shpiel, when he noticed the pair of them standing on the pavement.

“Ho there, Harry!” Stan said, eyeing Harry and Draco keenly.

“Stan!” Harry cried out. “How’re you?”

Stan tilted his head.

“One galleon, two sickles each for a ride and a Sober-Up potion,” Stan said. “And one more sickle for a hot washcloth to clean yourself up.”

Harry looked almost relieved and rifled in his pockets. “Ta, Stan.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen it before. Better the Knight Bus than splinching yourselves tryin’ to get home, eh?”

Harry and Draco got onto the bus after Stan, and the conductor rummaged around in the cabinet at the front of the bus, unearthing two bottles of Sober-Up potion. They took them gratefully and downed them, wincing at the acrid taste that swept through them. Harry felt suddenly, blindingly sober, and looked at the little bottle gratefully, though the aftertaste combined with the nasty taste already in his mouth left something to be desired.

Potions finished, Stan handed Harry the hot washcloth he’d paid for as well, which Harry took gratefully to clean his face up. Now that he was sober, he also took the time to cast a freshen-up charm on himself.

“Where to, then, chaps?” Stan asked.

“Grimmauld Place for me,” Harry replied, and looked over to Draco. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting Draco to say, and Draco seemed to pause as well, like he was conflicted with something.

“Malfoy Manor, please,” Draco finally said.

“Right-o, then. Settle in, this won’t be naught but a moment!”

Harry lead Draco to the back of the Knight Bus and they had both settled into adjacent beds just in time for the _BANG!_ of the bus as it jumped forward, speeding along the city streets. There were several other passengers who got off before Harry and Draco: an old lady in a fuzzy white coat, a pair of inconspicuous-looking twins, and a man with several trunks floating behind him, one of which nearly knocked Harry in the head.

The Knight Bus finally screeched to a halt in front of 12 Grimmauld Place and Harry eased himself out of the bed. Draco got up as well, walking with Harry to the front of the bus.

Harry stepped down and turned to face Draco, holding on to the side of the bus with one hand.

“I had a great time tonight,” Harry said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Draco leaned against the barrier next to him. “We need to do it again sometime. See you around?”

“Absolutely,” Harry murmured. “I’ll Owl you.”

Draco smiled and raised a hand, waving.

Stan peeked out from the front of the bus over Draco’s shoulder. “We need to keep moving, Harry, we can’t hold up for you.”

The pair jumped at the interruption.

“R-right, sorry Stan,” Harry said, flushing. He released the side of the bus and turned to walk up to his stoop, missing the yearning look on Draco’s face.

—

_14 September 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_I hear from Draco that you both had quite the night at the theatre on Saturday. It is not something that he would have been allowed when he was younger, and I am grateful to you for venturing out with him. Seeing him the next day brought back memories of when he was very little, full of smiles and joy... but I wouldn’t embarrass him in front of you, even in this letter._

_I was wondering if you would quite be interested in joining us for tea next weekend. I know that your apprenticeship keeps you busy so I have no doubt you shall be too busy during the week to come around to the Manor. Perhaps while you are here you could explore the Malfoy library with Draco; I hear from him that you are interested in some of the history of the Wizarding World that has been lost to time. You are more than welcome to peruse our tomes, so long as you are careful and work with Draco to make sure that they are safe to touch and open. There were some nasty curses put upon many of the volumes in our library, I am sad to say. Some of them are far older than even I am._

_I am happy to see you and Draco both doing better. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but the good fortune of good company can, at least, help._

_Narcissa_

_—  
_

_14 September 1999_

_Dear Narcissa,_

_I would be more than happy to come by for tea next weekend. Would Saturday be alright with you both? I would very much be interested in exploring the Malfoy library, if Draco is interested in having me join him in the venture._

_Just name the time and I will be there._

_Yours,_

_Harry_

_—  
_

_14 September 1999_

_Dear Harry,_

_Saturday would be perfect. Say, three o’clock? That way, you and Draco will have plenty of time to explore the library as well._

_Narcissa_

_—  
_

_15 September 1999,_

_Narcissa,_

_Three will be perfect. I will see you then!_

_Harry_


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to TheInsaneFox and GeekMom13 for beta'ing this chapter for me! <3 Brief mentions of PTSD in this chapter.

Harry felt like he was floating for the rest of the week. His mind kept going back to the theatre, the feel of Draco’s shoulder under his arm. His heart swelled at how perfect and wonderful the night had been, how he hadn’t wanted it to end, how his friendship with Draco now, almost a decade after they had first met in such different circumstances, felt so easy and right. Harry’s head wasn’t really in his work that week, and more than once Fletcher had had to pull Harry’s hands to safety.

“If you aren’t paying attention, you have no place in the workshop,” Fletcher said none-too-kindly after the second time it had happened. “Get your head on or you’ll lose your fingers.”

Harry hung his head. He had been thinking of that coming Saturday, and how he hadn’t even Owled with Draco to confirm the plans that he had set up with Narcissa. What if Draco didn’t want to show him the library? What if he already had plans, and wouldn’t be able to be there?

“Sorry, Fletcher,” Harry said. “I don’t mean to be distracted. I’ll focus.”

Fletcher patted Harry on the shoulder. “See that you do. Now, I believe that we are about finished for the day; you head home for the night and read your book on safety Charms when working with sharp objects. I want you to be able to demonstrate them for me in the morning.”

Harry flushed. “Right, will do. Thank you, Fletcher.”

He barely remembered to grab his cloak from where it hung on the wall on his way out the door, rushed in his eagerness to get home and send an Owl to Draco.

—

_15 September 1999_

_Dear Draco,_

_I’m looking forward to seeing you and Narcissa on Saturday for tea. I hope you don’t mind, she invited me early to come explore the Malfoy Manor library with you. I said yes before even thinking about asking you if you’ll be free. I made plans to come round the Manor at 3 o’clock. Let me know if that works for you? I can come earlier or later if it doesn’t. ~~I look forward to seeing you.~~_

—

Harry scratched the last part out, groaning. He snatched up his wand from where he’d laid it on the writing desk and swirled it above the parchment, pulling the offending letters up from the page and casting them aside. That done, he signed the letter and sent it off with his owl, who nipped at his finger playfully before he flew off out the open window.

Harry stood and watched as the owl winged its way to Malfoy Manor. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. It was time to make dinner, not that he really felt up for it. Something simple, and practicing the basic safety Charms as Fletcher had requested of him.

He sighed and padded down the hall to the kitchen.

—

Draco sat at the breakfast table the next morning holding the letter from Harry in a shaky hand. He hadn’t known that Mother had invited Harry over on Saturday, but he was beginning to wonder at her. He looked across the table where she was delicately cutting into her quiche lorraine.

“Mother...did you invite Harry over without telling me?” Draco asked carefully, keeping his voice level.

Narcissa finished her small bite and set the knife and fork down. “I think it is rather obvious that I invited him over, Draco darling. I thought that we might use the company, and Harry is becoming such a close friend of yours now, so I thought that you wouldn’t mind the invitation. I can always rescind it if you have other plans.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You know very well that I never have plans, Mother.”

“Unless they involve Harry,” was her reply as she cut another piece of the quiche and popped it in her mouth.

Draco sputtered, trying to come up with an answer to that embarrassing statement... but he couldn’t. Face flushing red, he took a sip of his coffee and nearly choked on it. He cleared his throat, eyes watering, and glanced up to see that Narcissa had the smug look of _'the cat who got the cream'_ on her face.

Draco resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at his mother like a child, choosing instead to ignore her for the rest of breakfast and hole himself away in the library to try to find a section that would be safe to explore and would interest Harry for Saturday.

—

_16 September 1999_

_Harry,_

_Of course, 3 o’clock will be perfect for me. I have cleared out the worst of the curses on most of our library now, but there are still some lingering about that I can’t seem to break. Maybe you will have some ideas when you are here? I may just be looking at them for too long now._

_I shall see you in two days._

_Draco_

_—_

Friday morning, Harry showed up early for his apprenticeship. It was still dark out, and the weather was turning in a way that meant leaves changing and crisp air. He wore a leather jacket he’d found hanging in Sirius’ closet the night before. It was warm and still smelled faintly of his godfather. It was a bittersweet reminder, but he cherished it and couldn’t resist putting it on that morning.

Harry managed to arrive early, before even Fletcher, and he took his time neatening up his work desk. There were books upon books stacked haphazardly, as if any moment they would give up on gravity and topple over to the ground. He took the books back to where they belonged in the bookcases, making sure that he followed Fletcher’s strict method of categorizing them. Harry knew from experience that if someone had a particular way of organizing their books, it was important to follow it. He’d been shouted at once by Hermione for putting her library into disarray and that was one time too many.

That task finished, Harry began the task of dusting every surface and wiping down the hardwood. He took his time, shining everything to perfection and straightening the files placed on his desk. Harry didn’t touch Fletcher’s desk beyond dusting; he didn’t want to be the cause of his Master losing any important documents.

He was just finishing the last of the lamps in the office when Fletcher strode in, muttering to himself as he took off his fedora. The older man hadn’t noticed Harry yet, in the far corner of the room, and Harry thought he heard something about, _“Now where is that useless boy?”_ but he was far enough away that he was sure that he had misheard Fletcher.

“Good morning, Fletcher!” Harry said to announce his presence.

Fletcher jumped and whirled around to find Harry in the corner of the room. He looked almost as if he were about to scowl, but then schooled himself, grinning broadly.

“Harry, Harry, I didn’t see you there! What on earth are you doing over there?” Fletcher asked.

“I got in early, so I thought I would do a bit of cleaning,” Harry said, tucking his wand away. “I didn’t touch your desk except to spell the dust away, I hope you don’t mind.”

Fletcher’s brows furrowed at that. “But, dear boy, that is what the house elves are for! I could have snapped my fingers and one of them would have gladly put everything to rights.”

Harry made a moue of distaste. “I’d much rather do it myself, if it’s all the same. I’ve always cleaned up after myself, after all.”

Fletcher shrugged in a most un-Fletcher-like way. “Suit yourself. Thank you, in any case. Shall we begin? I am awaiting an owl about a prospective client that I am most anxious to receive, so it’s best to distract oneself in these moments, eh?”

“R-right,” Harry said. “What shall we be doing today?”

“Well, I do believe we need to go back to the basics, just a smidge, on your training. Blacksmiths’ apprentices begin with nails, after all, and what are we but simple carpenters?” Fletcher spread his hands out wide in front of him. “In that regard, I think that it’s time for you to start making tenons. They are about the equivalent of the nail for blacksmithery, and on the whole look simple enough to make.

“Tenons, and the matching mortise, or hole, will make your tables and chairs much more solid and snug. They are unseen in the finished product, which is what makes them different from the common nail. They take technique and practice, and as such I will have you begin on them with the little tables that you have made so far. Take them all apart today, and I will have one of my journeymen show you the basics of the tenon and mortise down in the main workshop. I’ve already discussed it with Morty the other day, and he will show you the ropes. I have some fire calls to make and do not wish to be disturbed until this afternoon. Am I clear?”

Harry nodded, although he admitted to himself that he was a fair bit confused. Isn’t this something that he should have learnt earlier, before he even began with the little tables? He sighed and looked at the workspace where ten little tables now stood. He could tell that this new task would take him at least through the next month. Harry shrunk all the tables down so that they could fit in his pocket and walked toward the office door.

“If you have any questions, just ask Morty. He should be downstairs shortly,” Fletcher said, waving Harry off as he turned his back to go to the desk.

Harry found Morty on the very bottom floor of the workshop, just starting on his day putting together a pair of cabinets. Morty was a tall, broad-shouldered man with close-cropped hair and a simple, no-nonsense attitude that was refreshing for Harry. None of the workers in the shop seemed to care about him being the ‘famous Harry Potter,’ a fact for which he was grateful. Harry relayed his new task to Morty, who laughed richly at Harry’s expense and slapped him hard on the shoulder.

“About time you joined us down here. We were wonderin’ what he was gettin’ up to with your trainin’ up there. C’mon, lemme show you what to do.”

The rest of Harry’s day was boring, to say the least of it. Tenons were difficult to make just right, and Harry wasted an hour alone trying to figure out how to make them properly before he got into a rhythm. He had to scrap all of his work from the beginning of the day, but eventually, his body took over and he worked out how exactly the little segments of wood were supposed to look so that they would fit into the holes he made in a chair leg. He was reminded of IKEA furniture and how they had those wooden pegs to hold things in place. Tenons were very similar, though definitely fit better than a peg in IKEA furniture ever could do.

Shortly before Harry and the other workers were ready to call it for the day, an owl flew in a high open window and winged its way to Fletcher’s office on the upper floors. Moments later, Fletcher let out an excited shout.

“What was that?” Harry asked Morty, who shrugged.

“Beats me,” Morty said. “I’m sure he’ll tell us when he wants us t’ know what’s goin’ on. That’s usually how things work with him, af’er all.”

The older man turned and got back to work. He was creating an intricate lace pattern in a thin sheet of oak that would become the decorative inlay on the custom cabinets he was making for some duke’s estate. Harry didn’t pay much attention to any of the royal family, so the name slipped past him when Morty told him who they were being made for.

Harry finished the last of the tenons for the day and tossed it in a bucket when Fletcher’s door burst open several stories up. The man himself grasped onto the railing and called down to the workshop in a magically-amplified voice.

“I’ve just had word _—_ we have been commissioned by the Minister of Magic himself to create all new custom furniture for the new ballroom and reception hall at the Ministry.”

A cheer went up amongst the carpenters.

“I will personally be meeting with the Minister of Magic on Monday to go over his requirements, and once I have that information we will be able to begin work. Morty, Broden, please come up to my office to discuss designs. The rest of you, go ahead and finish what you are working on and leave for the day.”

Harry barely remembered to run up the spiral stairs to grab his jacket from its hook on the wall in Fletcher’s office. The Charms Master didn’t even spare him a glance, deep in discussions with Morty and Broden, a man not much older than Harry himself who was an expert on innovative designs.

Harry shrugged and threw on his godfather’s old jacket, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the Apparition point and to home.

Tomorrow, he’d be at Malfoy Manor.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild moments of PTSD. Edited again by the lovely TheInsaneFox and GeekMom13. Thank you, my dears! (I don't think any of you are ready for this chapter. ;) )

Harry was antsy the entire morning. He put his energy to use cleaning Grimmauld Place from top to bottom, working his skills with Charms and trying to challenge himself with more and more complex ones to test his memory and skills. Harry started in the attic and worked his way down to the ground floor; by the time he reached the kitchen, he was exhausted and sweating, but every last inch of his home had been scrubbed clean. He plopped down at the kitchen table, a large glass of water in front of him, and checked his watch only to discover that it wasn’t even noon yet.   
  
Harry huffed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. He didn’t know what to do with all this nervous energy he was feeling, where it could possibly be coming from. It wasn’t something he could see or fight, so he was just stuck with this feeling in his bones that he couldn’t shake.   
  
He chugged the water, condensation on the outside of the glass dripping down the sides to splash on his sweat-soaked t-shirt. He slammed it down onto the table and stood up quickly. He wished he had one of those punching bags that fighters would use to practice. He was riled up with nothing he could do about it.   
  
In the end, Harry went for a pitiful attempt of a run. He found himself choking down breath after not even a kilometer. Gasping for air, Harry reached out and held onto a lamp post, bent in half. When his breathing finally evened out, he straightened himself and adjusted his glasses to perch once more on the bridge of his nose from where they had slipped when he practically keeled over.   
  
_I am an idiot,_ Harry thought to himself. _Why do my veins feel like they’re on fire? I don’t know what to do with myself..._   
  
He slowly walked back to 12 Grimmauld Place, one hand clutching a stitch in his side. He grimaced as he walked, half-limping from the pain in his stomach, and when he got back to his home, he walked straight up the stairs to the shower and turned it on its coldest setting. Harry stripped down and yelped when he jumped into the freezing cold shower. He blindly grabbed for the knob to shift the temperature to something slightly more tolerable, hopping from one foot to the next to avoid being in the stream of frigid water for too long.   
  
Harry leaned against the side of the shower, pondering over something.   
  
_Why was going to Malfoy Manor causing such a stir in his stomach and head?_   
  
Harry didn’t come up with what he thought was the answer until he was warm and dry in the library, cozied up on the couch with a cup of tea in one hand and a book of basic carpentry spells in the other. His eyes were glazed over, looking off into the distance at nothing, when he almost dropped the book in his lap. It landed on the floor instead, closing itself shut with a snap of annoyance.   
  
Harry smacked himself on the forehead, setting the teacup back on its saucer so that he wouldn’t get stuck with a lapful of tea.   
  
“Why didn’t I think of it before?” Harry asked the empty room.   
  
Harry had been so focused on tea and Draco that he’d quite forgotten the last—and only—time he had set foot in Malfoy Manor. In person, anyway. He didn’t particularly count his memories of entering Voldemort’s mind as he presided over the ancestral Malfoy home. The last time Harry had been at Malfoy Manor was when the Snatchers had caught them. Bellatrix Lestrange, torturing poor Hermione for information. Ollivander and Luna in the cellar.   
  
And Dobby. Poor, gentle, _free_ Dobby.   
  
Harry shuddered. He wouldn’t let his memories colour his experience that day. It was just another step he had to take, _especially_ being friends with Narcissa and Draco. He couldn’t just refuse to ever step foot in their home. It would just...take time.   
  
Harry got ready to head over to Malfoy Manor, taking his time now. He was ready to go an hour before he was supposed to be there, but he decided that he didn’t want to take any chances. He didn’t know what his reaction would be like when he arrived, and better to deal with his inner demons if they decided to rear their heads and get through it on his own than try to cope with it on the hour that he was supposed to arrive.   
  
Harry gave himself a once-over in his bathroom mirror, nodded at himself, and walked out to the front stoop of 12 Grimmauld Place, Disapparating in a flurry of fabric.   
  
He chose his spot carefully, just to the side of the grand gates that lead up to the Malfoy Manor proper. His view of the manor was obscured by large topiary bushes that lined the edge of the property, towering over him. It was chillier on the moor where the Manor was situated, and the chill autumn breeze whipped through Harry’s thin clothing that had been perfectly fine in London. He cast a quick warming charm on his cloak, thankful that he had at least thought to bring it at the last moment as he was leaving the house. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the warm glow enveloped him. This particular charm reminded Harry of a warm fireplace hearth, the fire just down to embers that simmered.   
  
The thought of embers brought back thoughts of Sirius on the run in his Fifth Year. Harry quashed the memory down, unwilling to dwell on the past when it was so painful. Harry shoved his hands in the warm pockets of his cloak and looked around. Outside of the Malfoy property reminded Harry of a typical British countryside, with wide dirt lanes that had been worn down over time by car wheels on the sides. Sparse bushes and trees were everywhere on the rolling hills, and it was only on Malfoy property itself that Harry could see an order to the plant life. They were all organized and neat, like someone with a careful hand and a keen eye had overseen the plans of the grounds.   
  
Harry immediately thought of Narcissa; it made sense in his mind that she would be the mistress of these lands. He looked through the closed gates, rolling through his mind to assess how he felt about it. His pulse had quickened, but not fast enough for him to be overly worried about it. The grounds themselves were not a cause for concern. Well, that was good. Harry’s eyes swept up the drive to the front doors of the Manor.   
  
His heart thudded in his throat, threatening to choke off Harry’s breath. _In, out. In, out. Breathe, Harry. Just breathe,_ he told himself. _You can do this. You are Harry Potter. It’s been over a year since the war, Bellatrix isn’t waiting for you. She’s dead, long gone. There are no Snatchers, no one waiting to torture you. Breathe._   
  
Harry stood at the gates to Malfoy Manor for a very long time. His heart continued to beat rapidly in his throat, and he took steadying breaths through his nose, held, then breathed out through pursed lips and a clenched jaw. It took longer than Harry cared to admit to himself for his breathing to finally even out. His heart still pounded, but it wasn’t in his head anymore, which he would take as a win. It was more than he could have said of himself not even a few months ago.   
  
When Harry finally felt that he might be able to go in, he checked his watch and found that it was already a quarter til three. It boggled his mind that it had taken him _that long_ to steady himself, but of course, it had. He had made the right call, arriving so early.   
  
Harry stepped closer to the gate, and the wards went off. He heard a bell go off in the Malfoy Manor, and he gulped. The air around Harry crackled, and he heard Narcissa’s voice by his ear.   
  
“Harry, you’re here! Welcome. Come on in. You can walk right through the gates; the wards will recognise you and let you in. I’ll be waiting in the entrance hall for you.”   
  
The crackling stopped, and Harry assumed that the connection had been cut off.   
  
_Walking right through solid metal gates,_ Harry thought to himself, _I really shouldn’t be surprised, should I?_   
  
He steeled himself and stepped through the gate. It wavered around him as he walked through seemingly-solid wrought iron bars. Harry let go of the breath he had held as soon as he was through the gate and began the long walk up the drive to the entrance of Malfoy Manor.   
  
It was a very different sort of experience to the last time he had been to Malfoy Manor, that was to be sure. Rather than his face being stung beyond recognition—thankfully, given the circumstances—and roughed about by Snatchers, he set a leisurely pace, making his way up the gently sloping drive to the front doors.   
  
They opened as Harry walked up the deeply-grooved marble staircase, which had seen better days and had obviously been around for a very long time.  He started at the movement and noise that emitted from the doors as he drew closer, but on seeing that there was nothing wrong and he wasn’t about to be attacked, Harry forced his shoulders to relax. In that moment, he realized that he had subconsciously released the straps to his wand holster, the wand butting against his upraised palm. Harry breathed again, relaxed the tension. He made the mental shift to tie the straps up again and let go once he knew the wand wouldn’t fall out of his holster.   
  
Harry didn’t have to wait long; Narcissa walked over to him from a spot in the back of the entryway, taking him in. It hadn’t been long since the banquet, but it was long enough that she seemed to have noticed a difference in him—and approved. She smiled warmly at him, and Harry had a sense that all was right with the world now. He managed to block out the anxiety bubbling up inside of him, forcing it to the back of his mind. It didn’t matter that his feet were tingling, that he felt the need to shake out his hands and tap them against his thighs. He couldn’t think about what was causing him so much trouble, not when he was an invited guest in the Malfoy Manor.   
  
Narcissa’s smile wobbled slightly, then re-firmed once more.   
  
“Hello, Harry, it is so good to see you,” Narcissa said, fluttering butterfly kisses against his cheeks.   
  
“Hello, Narcissa,” Harry replied. “Sorry I’m a bit early...”   
  
Narcissa pulled back and Harry couldn’t help but to notice the sorrowful expression in her eyes. “It’s quite alright, my dear. Draco has been in the library for the past several hours, why don’t I bring you to him and leave you two to it for a bit, hmm?”   
  
There was a strange light in her eyes at the query, one that left Harry more than a little bit confused.   
  
“All right, then,” he said, uncertainty lacing his voice. “Thank you for inviting me over, by the way. I should have said.”   
  
“Not at all,” Narcissa replied, wrapping one hand around Harry’s elbow to lead him up the grand wooden staircase in the foyer. She guided him down hallways lined with portraits that were nothing like what Harry would have expected from his memories of the Manor; they weren’t creepy at all, but rather bright, sunny scenes that reminded Harry of classic painters that he must have studied when he was enrolled in Muggle school, not that he could remember any of their names. They were surrounded in intervals by tall windows that let in light that illuminated the colours in the paintings. Even the floral wallpaper, which Harry remembered Narcissa telling him had been changed, was light-toned and made the space feel open and airy.   
  
The pair continued on to the far end of the hall until they reached an ornately-carved wooden door. She rapped lightly on the door twice and, hearing a muffled _thump_ and a curse, twisted the doorknob to swing the door open.   
  
At first glance, Harry saw a beautiful two-storey room with floor to ceiling custom-made bookcases. He could tell that they had once been completely filled, but for Draco’s work sorting through them all. It was the sort of room that Hermione would _die_ to get her hands on. Then Harry looked around for Draco... and found the other man on the rich red and black carpet, clearly having fallen off the ladder that leaned against a nearby bookcase.   
  
“Oh Draco,” Narcissa said. “What are you doing on the floor? Are you all right?”   
  
Draco pressed his face against the carpet and groaned, pushing himself off of the floor with both arms. Harry’s pulse quickened. His mind processed the toned muscles that flexed against the stark white fabric of Draco’s button-up; even without Quidditch, it seemed that Draco still cared about his physique and took the time to work out. Draco stood with minimal effort and brushed invisible dust off of his trousers. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to look at Harry and his mother, and Harry noticed a light blush on Draco’s cheeks.   
  
“It was nothing,” Draco said. “I slipped and fell off of the ladder. Nothing is broken.”   
  
Harry glanced up at Narcissa’s face, and there was a hint of bemusement in her eyes.   
  
“Very well Draco, Harry. I’ll leave you boys to the library. Have fun exploring. Tea will be ready in a couple of hours.”   
  
Narcissa twisted elegantly, her dress flaring out behind her in a rustle of fabric. Harry stared after her, perplexed, as the door shut soundly behind her. He heard a cough sound behind him, and he turned to find Draco ruffling a hand through his hair, cheeks still pink.   
  
“Well then...want a tour of the library?”   
  
Harry grinned. “Promise you won’t fall off any more ladders?”   
  
Draco laughed and shook his head. “A one-time occurrence, I promise.”   
  
They spent their afternoon exploring the tomes in the library. It had fallen into disarray over the years, and Draco had made it his mission to set it to rights.   
  
“The trickier part is where my _darling_ ancestors decided to protect their dark tomes with intricate jinxes and hexes, and on the rare occasion several nasty curses,” Draco explained as they made their way through the spacious room. “I was banned from the library as a child, it was too unsafe in here. I honestly doubt if my Father came in here more than once or twice in my entire life, and then it was to pick out a very specific book that he knew where to find. I remember when the Ministry raided the Manor when we were at Hogwarts—rather than trying to sort out the entire library with only a moment’s notice, Mother placed strong protective Charms on the door so that it blended in with the wall, and they only found a couple of tomes that Father _did_ know about that were elsewhere in the Manor.   
  
“I don’t know what it is about men in power, but they always seem to ignore Mother. It’s probably the only reason I’m alive, if I’m honest.” Draco gave a half-shrug. “She’s a powerful witch, sure, but more importantly, she cares so deeply and if you are one of the people she cares about, she will do everything in her power and then some to protect you.”   
  
They stopped at the top of a spiral wrought-iron staircase that reached the second storey of the library, which was flooded with light from the bay windows interspersed between bookcases. Draco settled at one end of a window seat that was big enough for two people to sit in comfortably, leaning back against plush royal blue and silver pillows. He motioned wordlessly for Harry to sit opposite him with a half-formed smile.   
  
“I can believe it,” Harry said, joining Draco in the window seat. “She lied to Voldemort about me in the Forbidden Forest, after all, and that was just so that she could get to you. Of course, I’m grateful to her, but I knew that in that moment, she was a mother protecting her son.”   
  
He leaned back on the pillows and found that the cushions adjusted to his body, finding his perfect level of comfort. Harry looked up at Draco, surprise etched in his brows.   
  
Draco grinned. “Don’t ask me for the Charm, the cushions have been like this for as long as I can remember. The one time I managed to sneak up here on my own when I was little, I brought one of my picture books and fell asleep on the window seat. Mother found me hours later, curled up against them with a blanket covering me.”   
  
Harry laughed. “I’m sure she wasn’t pleased with that.”   
  
“No, not as much. I was grounded and kept in my room for a week after that incident, and Mother and Father learned to lock the library door with the strongest spells they could find to keep me out.”   
  
They chatted about innocent things, like the Quidditch league, Harry’s apprenticeship and the work that Draco was doing with the library. The pair sat like that for what seemed like both hours and mere seconds at the same time, their worlds condensing into this small moment. They lapsed into silence, and Harry tucked his legs under him, one foot hanging off the window seat. He looked out the window onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor and watched as their albino peacocks meandered between the hedges and trees.   
  
He glanced back up at Draco, a comment on the tip of his tongue, but his voice caught in his throat.   
  
Draco leaned over, arms crossed over a plush pillow to gaze outside. The barest hint of a smile ghosted over his lips as, Harry guessed, he watched the peacocks on the grounds. The dappled sunlight caught the highlights in Draco’s rumpled hair, making him shine in the afternoon light. It hit Harry in a wave, this powerful steady crash over him again and again and again. Every little moment, big and small, in their lives intertwined in Harry’s mind as he stared at Draco.   
  
Meeting at Madam Malkin’s.   
  
The attempted handshake in the Entrance Hall.   
  
The painful moments.   
  
The fights.

The Dueling Club.  
  
Hogwarts Quidditch matches.   
  
_Sectumpempra._   
  
Draco and Snape fleeing Hogwarts.   
  
The War.   
  
The trials.   
  
Their newfound friendship.   
  
Draco revealing that he is gay in Grimmauld Place.   
  
The theatre, the pub.   
  
The little touches and looks.   
  
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked at Draco in a new light. All he could think about, all that he wanted to do in that single moment, was tug Draco up from that cushion by the collar and kiss him.   
  
_Oh._   
  
Of course, it was in that moment of self-discovery that Draco decided to look up at Harry, an impish sort of grin on his face.   
  
“I used to hate those peacocks—they like to bite if you get too close, and I—” He must have noticed something wrong with Harry, because he cut himself short. “Is there something the matter?”   
  
Harry closed his mouth, coughed, and scoured his mind for something to say.   
  
“Sorry, no, nothing is the matter. Er—sorry, I just realized I need the loo.”   
  
Draco rolled his eyes and lifted himself up from the cushion he’d been lazing on.   
  
“That’s all? You looked like you’d had something grand to say. Come on, then, I’ll show you where to go. You’ll get lost if I just tell you, and we wouldn’t want that. I can check on Mother and tea.”   
  
Harry heaved an internal sigh of relief that Draco didn’t notice or question him and followed Draco back down the spiral staircase to the bottom level of the library and out the door.   
  
—   
  
The rest of Harry’s time at Malfoy Manor was spent awkwardly trying to avoid openly staring at Draco and doing everything in his power to act as normally as possible. He thought he’d succeeded, for the most part, but as he was getting ready to leave, Draco pulled him off to the side.   
  
“Is everything okay, Harry?” Draco asked, concern in his eyes.   
  
Harry glanced to the side and gave a weak sort of laugh.   
  
“What are you talking about? Of course everything is fine.”   
  
Draco’s brow furrowed; he clearly didn’t accept the lie.   
  
“If you say so...” Draco pursed his lips, but in the end seemed to decide to say nothing. He walked Harry to the door and bade him a good night.   
  
Harry turned on the path to the gates as he walked to look back at Draco in the doorway. The blond raised one hand to wave at Harry, who waved back stiffly, then turned to avoid tripping over his own feet on the walk.

As soon as he was able to, he Disapparated from the Malfoy Manor property, popping back up in the alley by the pub where Draco had taken him just one week before.   
  
Harry made his way through the loud pub, jostling for a place at the bar. He waved down the bartender and ordered a pint, lifting it gratefully when it was handed to him. Harry glanced about, trying to find somewhere to sit on his own, and finally, his gaze settled on a little out-of-the-way table. He narrowly avoided getting bowled over by a big guy who looked like he could be a rugger, with minimal sloshing on the part of his beer. Harry sat quickly and knocked his knee against the table for his rush. He bit his lip, wincing, and rubbed at the knot that was already starting to form.   
  
_That’s going to bruise,_ he thought to himself.   
  
Sighing, Harry took a long sip of his beer. He needed time to process his newfound realization.   
  
He, Harry Potter, liked Draco Malfoy. As something more than a friend. When did _that_ happen? Harry tried to come up with a particular moment in time, maybe there was some kind of inkling... But then, he thought, Draco had always been around in his life. It wasn’t simply one little thing, but really, _everything_ about him.   
  
_What’s that phrase, again?_ Harry tried to remember. _‘I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun,’ that’s it._   
  
He sipped on his beer, stirring his thoughts around in his mind. Harry stared blankly at a scuff mark in the woodgrain of the hardwood floor, coming to grips with this new understanding.   
  
Should he do something about it? Harry shivered at the thought. Better not to risk his newfound friendship, he decided. Completely disregarding the fact that the idea of doing something struck fear into his very core,  it’s not like Draco had ever said he liked him... and it’d be wrong of him to assume.   
  
Harry chewed at his bottom lip nervously and drained the rest of his pint. He got the feeling that he wouldn’t be sleeping well that night.


End file.
